Quotes About Rural Life

Quotes tagged as "rural-life" (showing 1-17 of 17)
Carlos Ruiz Zafón
“In small towns, news travels at the speed of boredom.”
Carlos Ruiz Zafón

Arthur Conan Doyle
“It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.”
Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Novels and Stories, Volume I

Sheri Reynolds
“Energy is neither created nor destroyed. It just changes shape.”
Sheri Reynolds

Arthur Conan Doyle
“Do you know, Watson," said he, "that it is one of the curses of a mind with a turn like mine that I must look at everything with reference to my own special subject. You look at these scattered houses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed there.”
Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Novels and Stories, Volume I

Melina Marchetta
“City people. They may know how to street fight but they don't know how to wade through manure.”
Melina Marchetta, On the Jellicoe Road

Tehmina Durrani
“Love's absence ailed me. I could not imagine loving my husband. He was a superior and I did not know how to love and be subservient together. Nor had he ever thought of me as a human being, let alone a woman. For no reason had he ever softened towards me, I had stirred him that little.”
Tehmina Durrani, Blasphemy

Andrew Geyer
“At 6:15 she was standing on her front porch watering gardenias and watching another line of thunderstorms split and go around her. The same thing happened almost every day. Some days they came so close all she could smell was the rain. The wind whipped up dust from the fields until it drove like buckshot into the shuddering mesquites, and Clara Nell started to pray. 'Jesus,' she whispered. 'Jesus, Jesus....' But the only thing that came out of the sky was her topsoil. Every day the wind took a little more, and it hadn't rained in almost a year.”
Andrew Geyer, Whispers in Dust and Bone: Andrew Geyer

Edith Wharton
“...but these backwaters of existence sometimes breed, in their sluggish depths, strange acuities of emotion... ("Afterward")”
Edith Wharton, American Fantastic Tales: Terror and the Uncanny from Poe to the Pulps

John Irving
“Rural life in the winter months was rugged: snow-blurred and alcohol-fueled, violent and fast.”
John Irving, Last Night in Twisted River

Agatha Christie
“What was one to do, thought Adela, with someone who didn't talk gardening or dogs - those standbys of rural conversation.”
Agatha Christie, Taken at the Flood

Arlene Stafford-Wilson
“The eldest ones said that the laughter and tears are sewn right into the quilt, part and parcel, stitch by stitch. Emotions, experiences, heartbreak, mourning, pain and regret, stitched into the cloth, along with happiness, satisfaction, cheer, comfort, and love. The finished quilts were a living thing, a reflection of the spirits of its creators.”
Arlene Stafford-Wilson, Lanark County Connections - Memories Among the Maples

Fennel Hudson
“We get so used to the gregarious nature of our towns and villages that we forget how crowded our existence has become.”
Fennel Hudson, Wild Carp - Fennel's Journal - No. 4

Greg Seeley
“I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him - but he was a good and faithful horse.
-Frank

From "Eulogy for a Percheron" in "The Horse Lawyer and Other Poems”
Greg Seeley, The Horse Lawyer and Other Poems

“Nelson, do you remember the spring day when we climbed the barn gable so we could see the seagulls that mysteriously blew into our clay hills-- swept from an ocean neither of us had ever seen though it was scarcely a hundred miles away, each bird a genuine miracle high above the green barley? The time we saw that panther in the sycamore tree and Maw said it was the sign of war? Nelson, I am sixty-three years old, the same age that both Maw and Daddy were when they died. I have written this in testimony. With this book, I presume to be done now with such remembrance. But somehow I suspect it will go on, this peering down old wells, this excavation of memory and its shades.”
Joe Bageant, Rainbow Pie

Petter Dass
“Men Hammerøe ligger der inde med Land,
Beskicket for en residerende Mand,
Som Tienesten bør at forrette;
Indbyggerne have der ligedan Kaar,
Som andre der pløyer og høster og slaar,
Thi kand jeg ey videre sette.”
Petter Dass, The Trumpet of Nordland

Petter Dass
“Men dersom Nordfarernes Troe var saa stoer,
De kunde faa Bergen henfløttet i Noer,
Ved ongefahr hundrede Miile;
Hvor skulle den ganske Nordlendingens Tract,
Af inderste Hierte sig fryde med Magt,
Med lystige Ansigter smiile.”
Petter Dass, The Trumpet of Nordland

Jane Harper
“The the street was quiet again. Country quiet.

That's partly what took city natives like the Whitlams by surprise, Falk thought: the quiet. He could understand them seeking out the idyllic country lifestyle, a lot of people did. The idea had an enticing, wholesome glow when it was weighed out from the back of a traffic jam, or while crammed into a gardenless apartment. They all had the same visions of breathing fresh clean air and knowing their neighbors. The kids would eat home-grown veggies and learn the value of an honest day's work.

On arrival, as the empty moving truck disappeared form sight, they looked around and were always taken aback by the crushing vastness of the open land. The space was the thing that hit them first. There was so much of it. There was enough to drown in. To look out and see not another soul between you and the horizon could be a strange and disturbing sight.

Soon, they discovered that the veggies didn't grow as willingly as they had in the city window box. That every single green shoot had to be coaxed and prized from the reluctant soil, and the neighbors were too busy doing the same on an industrial scale to muster much cheer in their greetings. There was no daily bumper-to-bumper commute, but there was also nowhere much to drive to.

Falk didn't blame the Whitlams, he'd seen it many times before when he was a kid. The arrivals looked around at the barrenness and the scale and the sheer bloody hardness of the land, and before long their faces all said exactly the same thing. "I didn't know it was like this."

He turned away, remembering how the rawness of local life had seeped into the kids' paintings at the school. Sad faces and brown landscapes.”
Jane Harper, The Dry

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