Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Soilders. 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 Soilders Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Pam Munoz Ryan,Ivan Goncharov,Diana Gabaldon,Wendell Berry,Harry Sidebottom for you to enjoy and share.
What grows [from] the dark soil of disappointment?
The common herd of "burghers", those cattle, complete with horns, who turn millstones with their bare hands.
English dragoons
The soil under the grass is dreaming of a young forest, and under the pavement the soil is dreaming of grass.
A mere like this might be bottomless mud, like the one at home they used to drown the buggers in.
The soil of their native land is dear to all the hearts of mankind.
Maker - their word for worm,
Do not love these gardens if you despise the dirt.
O land and soil, red soil and sweet-gum tree,
So scant of grass, so profligate of pines
The nation that destroys its soil destroys itself.
All that we did, all that we said or sang must come from contact with the soil.
I've had my fill of these city guttersnipes
all that scavenging scum! They're the sort of people, who, if the gates of heaven opened to them, all they'd feel would be a draught.
The skin of moss / holds the footprints of / star-footed birds.
Gardens were weeded and watered and
Strangely enough, they have a mind to till the soil, and the love of possessions is a disease in them.
With their souls of patent leather, they come down the road. Hunched and nocturnal, where they breathe they impose, silence of dark rubber, and fear of fine sand.
The cleanest souls are the easiest to soil.
Ragweed,wild oat,vetch,butcher grass,invaginate volunteer beans,all heads gently nodding in a morning breeze like a mother's soft hand on your cheek ...
Sunlight dusts them; Water is damp; Crosses pain them; And beheadings cause cramps -
We have all been called to be foot-washers".
~R. Alan Woods [2006]
Econowives, they're called. These
In the Middle West now you got to put a brand on your soil, then in the Spring go on a round-up looking for it.
Dirt is just matter out of place.
Nordlings. The men before men, creatures of great power and incredible cruelty.
There was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their
Land is not merely soil, it is a fountain of energy flowing through a circuit of soils, plants and animals.
Good God, with a bounty
Look down on Marion County,
For the soil is so pore, and so awful rooty, too,
I don't know what to God the pore folks gonna do.
moss that is concentrating on being green.
Plough deep while sluggards sleep.
What is working stain, does not soil.
Standing on soil feels so much different than standing on city pavement; it lets you look inward and reflect and see who you really are, while you see a beautiful, unspoiled land as far as the eye can see. It allows your inner life to grow.
There was earth inside them, and they dug.
My roots are firmly planted in the glory of nature. The soil beneath my feet heartens each step.
They are again in the dirt in the desert
I knew, as every peasant does, that land can never be truly owned. We are the keepers of the soil, the curators of trees.
Martyred plants from their shrouds. Their mouths
He is a man who understands the power of the German soil, who feels its dark prehistoric vigor thudding in his very cells.
Improving the soil improved the man.
Our backs hut from gathering them: how hard they were to find among the concealing leaves, the frosted deceiving grass.
The farmer works the soil. The agriculturalist works the farmer.
Poltroons, cowards, skulkers and dastards.
If the human mind naturally produces noisome weeds, it also produces flowers and fruit; and ... the best method to mend the soil in general, is for each of us to cultivate his own particular spot.
Flatterers are the worst kind of enemies.
[Lat., Pessimum genus inimicorum laudantes.]
Off in strata of porous rock by the leathery half-plant, half-animal little makers - and
You have to be careful what seeds you sow on dirt where your roots have not yet touched the bedrock.
Soil, blood, seed- Let me draw strength from you. Let it be enough.
The most vibrant of flowers often come from the filthiest of soils.
The best fertilizer for a piece of land is the footprints of its owner.
If it's softer than the ground and has a roof over it, I call it a bed. Dolorous Edd sniffed the air. I smell dung.
My men like satyrs grazing on the lawns, / Shall with their goat-feet dance an antic hay.
A Warder once told me Trollocs call the Aiel Waste 'the Dying Ground.' I mean to make them give that name to the Two Rivers.
He who owns the soil, owns up to the sky.
Nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility.
As soils are depleted, human health, vitality and intelligence go with them.
Stops at the end of the road collected Clyde Lidgards like dams collected silt.
Worm or beetle - drought or tempest - on a farmer's land may fall, Each is loaded full o' ruin, but a mortgage beats 'em all.
Night soil oozed onto my cloak, and I wondered why all my adventures involved foul odour. Why could I not for once frolic in a meadow of flowers, or escape in a hamper of fresh laundry? No, I must endure night soil and prison cells and unwashed soldiers ...
Something ignoble, loathsome, undignified attends all associations between people and has been transferred to all objects, dwelling, tools, even the landscape itself.
City people. They may know how to street fight but they don't know how to wade through manure.
Mud and rain and wretchedness and blood. Why should jolly soldier-boys complain? God made these before the roofless Flood - Mud and rain.
making soil soup deep
Soil, not oil, holds the future for humanity.
'Mullygrubber' is an Australian term which means something that creeps along the ground; it's like a little grub.
The drenched backyard full of runoff, and tiny, slimy, uncertain yard critters who had expected to remain buried in months of hard mud, peeking their heads out into the balmy New Year's air, asking, Wait, what?
What are men to rocks and mountains?
Anybody from my soil is my responsibility.
There is nothing pleasanter than spading when the ground is soft and damp.
Every soil does not produce every material.
My father was a soil scientist with the Geological Survey.
Friends , the soil is poor, we must sow seeds in plenty for us to garner even modest harvests .
Critics are a kind of freebooters in the republic of letters
who, like deer, goats and divers other graminivorous animals, gain subsistence by gorging upon buds and leaves of the young shrubs of the forest, thereby robbing them of their verdure, and retarding their progress to maturity.
The very mudsills of society. We call them slaves. But I will not characterize that class at the North with that term; but you have it. It is there, it is everywhere, it is eternal.
When the April wind wakes the call for the soil, I hold the plough as my only hold upon the earth, and, as I follow through the fresh and fragrant furrow, I am planted with every foot-step, growing, budding, blooming into a spirit of spring.
Earthworms will dance
It's that which is between the gardener and his bit of soil that makes a garden.
Dark gods beneath the ground in the Frostfangs,
Sometimes in June, when I see unearned dividends of dew hung on every lupine, I have doubts about the real poverty of the sands. On solvent farmlands lupines do not even grow, much less collect a daily rainbow of jewels.
poachers and Methodies, of course. Oh,
Ragweed,wild oat,vetch,butcher grass,invaginate volunteer beans,all heads gently nodding in a morning breeze like a mother's soft hand <>ong>onong> your cheek ...
dirt, but the machine began to make
I can grow cameras!" she had shrieked at the Brill brothers during one briefing. "Who's to say that despicable centaur Foaly hasn't succeded in splicing surveillance equiptment to plants? So get rid of all the flowers. Rocks, too. I don't trust them. Sullen little blebers.
Gundhrold's head lowered until his massive beak was only inches away from Amos's nose. "I am a son of the desert. This was once my home - the home of all my kind. I know every crag, every slope, every crick and hollow-"
Amos rolled his eyes. "Every blatherin' speck o' sand?
Your topsoil's a disaster area - it's starved for nitrogen, it's been fertilized for years by the criminally insane, and whatever thief put in your irrigation system ought to be flogged through the fleet.
garden. I have been defeated,
In traditional agriculture, the soil is the mother. She's the mother who gives, to whom you must give back.
A detestable, viscous place populated by slugs
People need to realize how powerful the transformation of soil can be.
Upstream, Arkansas and Ohio have their bottomlands, too, populated by a jaundiced and hungry-looking race, prone to fevers, whose eyes gleam at the sight of stone and iron, for they know only sand and driftwood and muddy water.
And wild-scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale.
Dead fields under a November sky, scattered rose petals brown and turning up at the edges, empty pools scummed with algae, rot, decomposition, dust ...
In Nature there is no dirt, everything is in the right condition; the swamp and the worm, as well as the grass and the bird,-all is there for itself.
To me it appears strange that the men against whom I should be enabled to bring an action for laying a little dirt at my door, may with impunity drive by it half-a-dozen calves, with their tails lopped close to their bodies and their hinder parts covered with blood ...
Some turn the soil and plant seedlings. We garden with words and nurture affinity.
Poor worms, they hiss at me, whilst I at home Can be contented to applaud myself, ... with joy To see how plump my bags are and my barns.
Irene Diamond's Fertile Ground is a provocative book. It stirs me to vigorous assent. It also triggers wide-eyed disbelief ... As it prods me to explosions of disagreement, it also provokes useful thought.
Bring me your Nortons, your Kramdens, your housewives, and sewermen.
Weight my limbs with the nests of your flotsam, that we may chirp in chorus this melancholy anthem.
Mourn with your busdriver piety this sapless husk;
dull with your tender hymn the string of the lumberman's axe.
You may fly over a land forever; you may bomb it, atomize it, and wipe it clean of life - but if you desire to defend it, protect it,and keep it for civilization, you must do this on the ground, the way the Roman Legions did - by putting your soldiers in the mud.
Our native soil draws all of us, by I know not what sweetness, and never allows us to forget.
All through the long winter, I dream of my garden. On the first day of spring, I dig my fingers deep into the soft earth. I can feel its energy, and my spirits soar.
These Atlantikoinonia. They're human? (Acheron)
What else would they be? Turnips? (Tory)