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Camping Quotes

Browse 167 quotes about Camping.

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Camping Quotes

“Eli returned to the river and paused for a moment midstream. His feet were balanced upon uneven stones. The current tumbled around him. The canyon walls were steep and jagged and solid. The colors beneath the surface stirred and glittered. He wanted to hold his face under water and breathe in their beauty. He dipped his fingers into the snow-cold transient texture and felt a tingle. He closed his eyes to see this sensation clearly. He breathed. He put his river-wet hand up to his face and felt the freshness permeate his skin. Water droplets dripped from his face and returned to the river. He opened his eyes as if they were separate from his body, separate from the tension of life, distant from any distraction. He breathed.”

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Book:THIS SIDE OF A WILDERNESS: A Novel
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“When she was a child, she had inherited a ratty canvas tent which her mother had allowed her to drag down from the attic and sit inside. The thrill of a pretended journey had been enough to entertain her for days at time, zipped up with her books and a beakerful of cramberry juice, imagining strange shadows dancing on the fabric walls. You liked it because you liked four walls around you, her mother told her later, you liked to have things where you could see them - your little books and toys and pencils - to zip them up with you and keep them close.”

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Book:Salt Slow
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“You don’t have to say everything to be a light. Sometimes a fire built on a hill will bring interested people to your campfire.”

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Author:Shannon L. Alder
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“Like many children, I had a telescope from a young age. I was familiar with some constellations and the moon and planets. I always enjoyed looking up at the night sky and seeing the few stars up there in the orange sky in Liverpool, UK. The streetlights made it hard to see much of the night sky in Liverpool. I always enjoyed my camping trips to rural Wales because there were few streetlights and the night sky was actually black! It was a very different night sky, far more stars and the cloud of the Milky Way could be seen.”

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Book:Magee’s Disease
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“He kissed my mitten. “Then we’ll get you to New York,” he said. He described Manhattan as an epicenter of creativity, a midnight tar-paved island where the young artists of the world go to pursue themselves. Listening, growing warmer, I peered up through the tent’s mesh roof at faraway stars, faint glitter, giddy.”

StarsCreativityNew YorkNew York CityMidnightArtistsManhattanCampingArtists LifeTent
Book:Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir
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“My attraction to wild places is, in part, an attempt to relive the innocence and imagination lost after youth. To be submersed in the innocence of a forest, the ungoverned landscape, to exist by my own laws and no one else’s, even if only briefly — this is one of the primary beacons that guides me back into wild places.”

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Book:THE UNPEOPLED SEASON: A Journal of Solitude and Wilderness
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“Late in the evening, tired and happy and miles from home, they drew up on a remote common far from habitations, turned the horse loose to graze, and ate their simple supper sitting on the grass by the side of the cart. . . . [The] stars grew fuller and larger all around them, and a yellow moon, appearing suddenly and silently from nowhere in particular, came to keep them company. . . .”

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Book:The wind in the willows
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“I lay on the grass with the air hanging around me, heavy and still. Not a sound disturbed the night save the trickle and truckle of two waterways, now seeming to chuckle together at some private joke. Perhaps they had seen the Devil ride out so often they found him ridiculous.”

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Book:At Night: A Journey Round Britain from Dusk Till Dawn
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“Then we run our little boat into some quiet nook, and the tent is pitched, and the frugal supper cooked and eaten. Then the big pipes are filled and lighted, and the pleasant chat goes round in musical undertone; while, in the pauses of our talk, the river, playing round the boat, prattles strange old tales and secrets, sings low the old child’s song that it has sung so many thousand years—will sing so many thousand years to come, before its voice grows harsh and old—a song that we, who have learnt to love its changing face, who have so often nestled on its yielding bosom, think, somehow, we understand, though we could not tell you in mere words the story that we listen to”

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Author:Jerome K Jerome
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“My health issues are now fully understood, treated and I am back to normal. It was a mix of amino acid deficiencies and low testosterone causing serious food intolerance and altitude hypersensitivity to occur. Low magnesium was causing sleep apnea and I now take magnesium supplements. I had also lost my circadian rhythm and it restored while I was homeless and camping outdoors for five months in the Hawaiian jungle. Based on my testing, I will have to take amino acids, magnesium and testosterone for the rest of my life. The sickness comes back if I stop the supplements.”

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Author:Steven Magee
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“If you have not touched the rocky wall of a canyon. If you have not heard a rushing river pound over cobblestones. If you have not seen a native trout rise in a crystalline pool beneath a shattering riffle, or a golden eagle spread its wings and cover you in shadow. If you have not seen the tree line recede to the top of a bare crested mountain. If you have not looked into a pair of wild eyes and seen your own reflection. Please, for the good of your soul, travel west.”

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Book:This Side of a Wilderness
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“Campgrounds are never comfortable. They are merely less awful than other options. In normal circumstances, if told that the nearest available toilet was half a mile away, up a dirt path frequented by animals in gastric distress, one would lock the doors and speed to civilization. When a tent or camper is involved, one is jubilant. At least this site had flush toilets!”

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Book:Holidays with Bigfoot
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“The honey appears on an oval tin tray, craggy blocks of honeycomb oozing their sticky cargo onto the tray. We scoop the honey up with forks (I looked in vain for a spoon), trying hard not to drip on the tired pink carpet that covers the floor of the tent. The honey is not as sweet as that at home, more liquid, and its fragrance is both floral and resinous. Perched in the tent on a mountain, surrounded by tall pines, the scent of woodsmoke and the sound of the distant water rushing over rocks like the laughter of happy children, this could well be the breakfast of dreams.”

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Book:A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts
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“They drove about half a mile until they found their site. They were old hats, having been camping together several times. Sylvie opened the cooler and pulled out some chicken breasts to roast on the grill over the fire. She had also brought veggies she had washed and precut at home, then packed in aluminum foil with oil and garlic. "God that smells good, Sylvie. I'm friggin' starving." Molly settled into the black butterfly chair she always brought along when she camped. "I know, right? Food tastes so much better out here. I guess it's probably because you have to work so hard for it, huh?" Sylvie poked the chicken to check its progress. "Yeah, that and the fact that you cook like MacGyver. You could, like, make a feast out of two blades of grass and a mushroom, whereas I can barely manage to open a bottle." Sylvie looked at her friend sideways, but said nothing to the contrary, they both knew the truth of it. "I haven't eaten yet today and I'm about to faint. I think instinctively my body knows I'll need my strength for tonight." "Oh yeah? You got plans I don't know about?" Molly said jokingly. "I plan on dancing my ass off," said Sylvie. "Tell me please we brought a camera. We did, right?" "Please. You know I'm half Asian, right? My Japanese ancestors would be horrified if I'd forgotten a camera." Molly exploded into laughter.”

CampingBestiesSylvie ShigeruMolly Moralejo
Book:When Autumn Leaves
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“Fly fishing is not a braggers game. There’s no glory to win. No competition or comparison between humans. It’s not about growing ego, but removing it. No fish will provide this lesson. It must come from the conscience of the angler. In the most simple explanation, fly fishing is an introspective quest to tame one’s own mind. This can be shared with others, but only discovered alone.”

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Book:Familiar Waters: A lifetime of fly fishing Montana
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“Eli returned to the river and paused for a moment midstream. His feet were balanced upon uneven stones. The current tumbled around him. The canyon walls were steep and jagged and solid. The colors beneath the surface stirred and glittered. He wanted to hold his face under water and breathe in their beauty. He dipped his fingers into the snow-cold transient texture and felt a tingle. He closed his eyes to see this sensation clearly. He breathed. He put his hand up to his face and felt the freshness enter his soul. Water droplets dripped from his skin and returned to the river. He opened his eyes as if they were separate from his body, separate from the tension of life, distant from any distraction. He breathed.”

FishingHikingMountainsCampingTroutFly Fishing
Book:THIS SIDE OF A WILDERNESS: A Novel
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“To wake up on a gloriously bright morning, in a tent pitched beneath spruce trees, and to look out lazily and sleepily for a moment from the open side of the tent, across the dead camp-fire of the night before, to the river, where the light of morning rests and perhaps some early-rising[240] native is gliding in his birch canoe; to go to the river and freshen one's self with the cold water, and yell exultingly to the gulls and hell-divers, in the very joy of living; or to wake at night, when you have rolled in your blankets in the frost-stricken dying grass without a tent, and to look up through the leaves above to the dark sky and the flashing stars, and hear far off the call of a night bird or the howl of a wolf: this is the poetry, the joy of a wild and roving existence, which cannot come too often”

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Book:Through the Yukon Gold Diggings
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“Six thirty and I could hear the gulls coming and going over the cliff and the now familiar early-morning battle with boots and tent flaps took far too long. As soon as I stood up I was overwhelmed. Not only by the desire to sit on a white, shiny, flushing toilet, but mainly by a wave of vertigo. Somehow in the dark and fog of the night before we had pitched the tent two meters from the edge of the cliff. Tent, path, scrap of grass, hundred-meter-drop. I regained my balance and looked for somewhere slightly disguised. All I could see was an open hillside with a small clump of gorse bushes. There was no waiting; it would have to do. I frantically tried to dig a hole with the heel of my boot - we hadn't carried a trowel for this, far too much weight and anyway we'd always find a public toilet. My thumb ripped through the waist of my leggings in the rush as I squatted behind the spikey sharp gorse with as much relief as Renton in 'Trainspotting'... 'Morning. You found somewhere to camp then?”

CampingToiletCoastlineTentResponsible TravelHow To Shit Around The WorldWild Shitting
Book:The Salt Path
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“Without the intense touch of nature, you can never fully freshen yourself! Go for a camping and there both your weary mind and your exhausted body will rise like a morning sun!”

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Author:Mehmet Murat Ildan
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“To think about our bodies as horses to be ridden or even temples to be occupied, is to create a duality between our thinking and our body. It is like a tourist who arrives in a wild forest in his or her Recreation Vehicle. We have all see those campers with their televisions, and so on. Are they experiencing the nature around them? They have an insular experience, that is, camping without getting their hands dirty.”

NatureSufismDualityCampingBody And MindInsular Existence
Book:The Sun at Midnight: The Revealed Mysteries of the Ahlul Bayt Sufis
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