Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Countryside. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Countryside Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Patricia Hampl,Don Mclean,Ray Bradbury,Daniel J. Rice,Lee Friedlander for you to enjoy and share.
Landscape, that vast still life, invites description, not narration. It is lyric. It has no story: it is the beloved, and asks only to be contemplated.
Hills of forest green where the mountains touch the sky, a dream come true, I'll live there til I die.
That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts.
I watched the surrounding landscape with great curiosity, and I wanted to discover the words that could describe all its unspoiled beauty.
The West to me is where the landscape is,
I have, I must admit, despised the English countryside for much of my life - despised it and avoided it for its want of danger and adventure.
[On the Netherlands:] There is not a richer or more carefully tilled garden spot in the whole world than this leaky, springy little country.
When we went to Belfast we saw some beautiful countryside and coastlines.
This country life doesn't look so bad from the window. It melts your heart. It warms your soul.lets you think about the possibility of quiet and how quiet is beautiful when seen through the proper lenses and mind-set.
At the North Carolina border, the dull landscape ended abruptly, as if by decree. Suddenly the countryside rose and fell in majestic undulations, full of creeping thickets of laurel, rhododendron and palmetto.
The country life near Manchester I really love.
The landscape looks different from every blade of grass.
Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn, A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding; And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.
I write about my region, the countryside in which I grew up.
It wasn't until I lived in the countryside that I began to understand the life of the countryside and the people in it and trees and water. Just learning about water is an education for a city person.
When I visit again some haunt of my youth, I am glad to find that nature wears so well. The landscape is indeed something real, and solid, and sincere, and I have not put my foot through it yet.
In the countryside, secrets have a short lifespan
In one of the Welsh counties is a small village called A
. It is somewhat removed from the high road, and is, therefore, but little known to those luxurious amateurs of the picturesque, who view nature through the windows of a carriage and four.
A living countryside is not a luxury but a necessity for the human population; if you let conservation go hang until your pockets are jingling there will be a lot less to conserve
I come from the countryside. I come from a bunch of horticulture family members. My best friend was a farmer's boy.
Let us freely walk in the countryside, like a horse peacefully walking towards sunset without any particular purpose!
The British countryside is threatened by people and interests who really do not care for it
They were full of mysteries and secrets, like ... like poems turned into landscapes."
"'Poems turned into landscapes.'" he murmured with a slight smile. "And what of Vestenveld's gardens? Do you see poems in them?"
"Your gardens are like your country's poetry. Very frilly and organized.
Some look at the hills from far away and see only the barren lands; some travel amongst the hills and find the most beautiful valleys!
Hills that stand soft and a sky that stands high and blue, and the sun setting behind a windmill, and always, always, hazy strings of mountains that fall and fall away on the horizon.
Shropshire, the fatlands of Gloucestershire,
Where there are no people, the nature shines in perfection. Remote nature is the real nature!
A landscape clean and crisp in form and colour, rich in inspiration is all that an artist could wish for, begging to be used, and full of inherent possibilities ...
I don't like landscapes. I like cities. Lots of cities. I like buildings. I like streets.
Where the most beautiful wild flowers grow, there mans spirit is fed and poets grow.
Landscape is history made visible.
I grew up in the countryside, and I was obsessed with horses and wildlife.
The hinterlands. Where the criminals and the carnivals and the concatenating counterfeiters of no morals to speak of make a home.
I love long power walks in the countryside.
Rural poetry is the pleasure ground of those who live in cities.
Immerse yourself in the mesmerising patchwork of flatland invaded by water, desolate roads of industrial obsolescence, and a dark history
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales.
Cannot a rugged and misty landscape be adored by the eyes as much as a sunlit garden? Perhaps it is adored even more for not seeking to make itself adorable.
Once wealth and beauty are gone, there is always rural life.
Landscapes have a language of their own, expressing the soul of the things, lofty or humble, which constitute them, from the mighty peaks to the smallest of the tiny flowers hidden in the meadow's grass.
The German countryside must be preserved under all circumstances, for it is and has forever been the source of strength and greatness of our people.
Gazing out from the mountains, the clouds are whiter, the sky is bluer, the air seeping into your lungs is as clear as the water roaring down from the snow, melting on the high peaks. A place where heaven is a little closer.
Harshness vanished. A sudden softness has replaced the meadows' wintry grey. Little rivulets of water changed their singing accents. Tendernesses, hesitantly, reach toward the earth from space, and country lanes are showing these unexpected subtle risings that find expression in the empty trees.
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn
For such a small country, Britain packs in an amazing diversity of landscapes: coastline, lakes, mountains, rolling countryside, villages and great cities.
On and on they flew, over the countryside parceled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscapes like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.
for pleasing to me are meadows and a far view
through woodlots and agricultural fields.
Up the hill, sheep bleat, oblivious to human empires rising and falling.
The landscape here was strange. It was some type of forest, with giant vines that grew into spirals, round and round, growing up fifty metres toward the sky. They were massive. Some were fifteen metres across, narrowing as they rose.
Jungles and grasslands are the logical destinations, and towns and farmland the labyrinths that people have imposed between them sometime in the past. I cherish the green enclaves accidentally left behind.
Nowhere in this country, from sea to sea, does nature comfort us with such assurance of plenty, such rich and tranquil beauty as in those unsung, unpainted hills of Pennsylvania.
Sometimes I long so much to do landscape, just as one would go for a long walk to refresh oneself, and in all of nature, in trees for instance, I see expression and a soul.
I'm from a very, very rural place. There's really nobody out there, just roads and farms.
At present, [in the desert] an exasperating clarity reigns. The sky has become less visible than water in a jar. Black peaks, spines of granite, a twisted tree are sculpted in this atmosphere basted with reflections. All that remains: a countryside of imperishable contours.
Tranquil Ladakh, the northernmost corner of my vast country. Frontier land. So unique. Unforgiving terrain with forgiving people.
For me a true landscape is not just a representation of a desert or a forest. It shows an inner state of mind, literally inner landscapes, and it is the human soul that is visible through the landscapes presented in my films.
I never knew I liked to be outside so much. I never knew I liked lochs and views and that, but I could seriously handle living in a cottage by the side of somewhere like this.
The Panopticon
People in the countryside carry a sense of dignity. They wear it, don't they? Like a badge? I'm being genuine.
The Fur Company may be called the exterminating medium of these wild and almost uninhabitable regions, which cupidity or the love of money alone would induce man to venture into. Where can I now go and find nature undisturbed?
Mr. Haverbink bowed deeply, muscles rippling all up and down his back, and lumbered from the room. Miss Hisselpenny sighed and fluttered her fan. "Ah, for the countryside, what scenery there abides ... , " quoth she. Miss Tarabotti giggled. "Ivy, what a positively wicked thing to say. Bravo.
Let any stranger find mee so pleasant a county, such good way, large heath, three such places as Norwich, Yar. and Lin. in any county of England, and I'll bee once again a vagabond to visit them.
It is spruce and pine and hemlock country, deerfly and punkie and blackfly country, wool and four-wheel-drive country, loon and osprey and raven country. My kind of country.
A land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
But I belong to that landscape now, to the sky and the mountains. I wouldn't be happy anywhere else.
up yonder in the guzzling Germans' land,
The lowest and vilest alleys of London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.
The stately Homes of England,How beautiful they stand!Amidst their tall ancestral trees,O'er all the pleasant land.
There is a serene and settled majesty to woodland scenery that enters into the soul and delights and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations.
The Old West, mysterious, serious, with great beauty at every vista and terrible things happening whenever any people appeared.)
Sky and clouds and trees and little figures relaxing in the perfect rural rhythm of their surroundings: these are the staples of a Gainsborough landscape.
There is scarcely any writer who has not celebrated the happiness of rural privacy, and delighted himself and his reader with the melody of birds, the whisper of groves, and the murmur of rivulets.
O, beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties,
Above the fruited plain ...
I'm a country girl. The more big cities I go to, the more fashionistas and designers I meet who want to dress me, the more I have all these kind of superficial but amazing experiences, the more I just realize that I'm from Gloucestershire.
Plains deceive you; they cause you to think that life is easy! Mountains never deceive you; they teach you the realties! Go to the mountains!
Moorcroft with a small pasture
Farm country
you know, hay, horses, cattle. It's the ideal situation for me. I like the physical endeavors that go with the farm
cutting hay, cleaning out stalls, or building a barn. You go do that and then come back to the writing.
I'm just fascinated by visiting actual castles in the countryside.
garden. I have been defeated,
In every village marked with little spire,
Embowered in trees, and hardly known to fame.
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road runs by
To many-towered Camelot.
Swearing is a currency the countryside spends well.
In Iceland, you can see the contours of the mountains wherever you go, and the swell of the hills, and always beyond that the horizon. And there's this strange thing: you're never sort of hidden; you always feel exposed in that landscape. But it makes it very beautiful as well.
I used to be frightened of the countryside after dark. Now I enjoy it. There is something wonderful about those strange country and wildlife noises.
I'm basically a country person.
I roamed the countryside searching for answers to things I did not understand.
I live in a landscape, which every single day of my life is enriching.
In my heart and soul, I am a West Country man, and ideally, my weekends are spent there.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns and fallows grey, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
Way over yonder is a place I have seen In a garden of wisdom from some long ago dream.
An English homegrey twilight poured On dewy pasture, dewy trees, Softer than sleepall things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.
Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs - To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music lest it should not find An echo in another's mind.
I was born and brought up near a village in Nottinghamshire and in my childhood enjoyed the freedom of the rather isolated country life. After the First World War, my father had bought a small farm, which became a marvelous playground for his five children.
There is an eternal landscape, a geography of the soul; we search for its outlines all our lives.
The English countryside, its growth and its destruction, is a genuine and tragic theme.
Nothing but mountains filled with barbarous ethnics with views as medieval as their muskets, and unspeakably cruel too
The mountains and moors, the wild uplands, are to be staked out like vampires in the sun, their chests pierced with rows of five-hundred-foot wind turbines and associated access roads, masts, pylons, and wires.
A country peopled by peasants, priests and pixies.
Land of Heart's Desire Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood, But joy is wisdom, time an endless song.
I am a country boy at heart.