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Moors Quotes

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Moors Quotes

“The feeling of eating the last oatcake has stuck with me: a funny mix of joy and salt and homesickness, and sharp cheese, and knowing how far I was from an oatcake shop, and my grandparents, and the green-grey moorland. There’s no landscape like the Staffordshire moorlands (they aren’t moors; that’s important). On the edge of a national park, but not nearly so beloved, the earth dips and swoops in lazy curves that seem almost-but-not-quite like somewhere you’ve been before. I wasn’t born there, and didn’t grow up there, and yet some part of me – some mining ancestor deep in the bone – always knows: this is where the bones come from. This is a kind of home.”

HomeFoodMoorsOatcakesStaffordshire
Book:Midnight Chicken: & Other Recipes Worth Living For
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“Sometimes we also find a tendency to view everything that's indigenous as good and anything "European"-such as Spain-as evil. That view overlooks such historical realities as the Aztec empire's oppressive domination of other indigenous societies and its class system, which privileged priests and the military. That view also forgets Spain was not a typically European nation after 600 years of rule by the Moors, an Arab/Berber people from Africa.”

ClassAfricaSpainMoorsAztecEuropeanAztecsBerber
Book:De Colores Means All of Us: Latina Views for a Multi-Colored Century
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“At the Moor Wanderer in the black wind; quietly the dry reeds whisper In the stillness of the moor. In the gray sky A flock of wild birds follows; Slanting over gloomy waters. Turmoil. In decayed hut The spirit of putrescence flutters with black wings. Crippled birches in the autumn wind. Evening in deserted tavern. The way home is scented all around By the soft gloom of grazing herds; Apparition of the night; toads plunge from brown waters.”

NatureAutumnDecayBirdsWanderersToadsMoorsBleakness
Author:Georg Trakl
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“I know more about Emily Bronte than anyone I know. I know enough about her family to have been a part. I’ve walked with her on her damp luscious lonely moors, watched her strain to write on miniscule scraps of paper, seen her hide her works from prying eyes. I’ve brooded alongside her and participated in her taciturnity. Before her death at the ripe old age of 30, I nursed her from the things that ultimately killed her: tuberculosis with a side order of Victorian thinking.”

WritingRatsMoorsTuberculosisVictorian AgeEmily Bronte
Book:On Being a Rat and Other Observations
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“No human being could live in this wasted country, thought Mary, and remain like other people; the very children would be born twisted, like the blackened shrubs of broom, bent by the force of a wind that never ceased, blow as it would from east and west, from north and south. Their minds would be twisted, too, their thoughts evil, dwelling as they must amidst marshland and granite, harsh heather and crumbling stone.”

RomanceCrimeNatural WorldGothicMoorsSmugglingJamaica Inn
Book:JAMAICA INN
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“If a man in order to shoot a hare, were to discharge thousands of guns on a great moor in all possible directions; if in order to get into a locked room, he were to buy ten thousand casual keys, and try them all; if, in order to have a house, he were to build a town, and leave all the other houses to wind and weather - assuredly no one would call such proceedings purposeful and still less would anyone conjecture behind these proceedings a higher wisdom, unrevealed reasons, and superior prudence.”

IfsMenTryingStillsReasonOrderHouseRoomsBehindsWindKeysHigherThousandTenGunTownsSuperiorsWeatherLockedPrudenceCasualProceedingDischargeHaresConjectureMoors
Book:Contemporary Mind - Some Modern Answers
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“I knew the stars, the flowers, and the birds, The gray and wintry sides of many glens, And did but half remember human words, In converse with the mountains, moors, and fens.”

HumansRememberStarsSidesHalfFlowerMountainBirdGrayConversesMoors
Book:Synge: Complete Plays: In the Shadow of the Glen; Riders to the Sea; The Tinker's Wedding; The Well of the Saints; The Playboy of the Western World; Deirdre of the Sorrows
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“There are houses in certain provincial towns whose aspect inspires melancholy, akin to that called forth by sombre cloisters, dreary moorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Within these houses there is, perhaps, the silence of the cloister, the barrenness of moors, the skeleton of ruins; life and movement are so stagnant there that a stranger might think them uninhabited, were it not that he encounters suddenly the pale, cold glance of a motionless person, whose half-monastic face peers beyond the window-casing at the sound of an unaccustomed step.”

ThinkingPersonsBookMightFacesCertainHouseSoundHalfSilenceStepsMovementInspireColdAspectWindowTownsStrangerRuinsEncountersMelancholyPalePeersGlancesSkeletonsDrearyDesolationStagnantMoors
Book:Eugenie Grandet
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“The realm of death seems an enemy's country to most men, on whose shores they are loathly driven by stress of weather; to the wise man it is the desired port where he moors his bark gladly, as in some quiet haven of the Fortunate Isles; it is the golden west into which his sun sinks, and, sinking, casts back a glory upon the leaden cloud-tack which had darkly besieged his day.”

MenCountrySeemsDeathEnemySunWiseHavensQuietGloryStressWestCloudsCastsDrivenWeatherGoldenFortunateRealmsShorePortBarkSinkingIsleMoors
Book:Conversations on Some of the Old Poets
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“Fare well we call to hearth and hall Though wind may blow and rain may fall We must away ere break of day Over the wood and mountain tall To Rivendell where Elves yet dwell In glades beneath the misty fell Through moor and waste we ride in haste And wither then we cannot tell With foes ahead behind us dread Beneath the sky shall be our bed Until at last our toil be sped Our journey done, our errand sped We must away! We must away! We ride before the break of day!”

WellsMayDoneLastsFallBehindsBreakJourneySkyWindBedMountainWasteRainBlowWoodsHallsTallDreadToilFoeHasteMistyErrandsMoorsSped
Book:The Lord of the Rings: One Volume
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“For a while he'd tried molding himself into the tragic Romantic hero, brooding and staring clench-jawed off into space as he composed dark verse in his head. But it turned out that trying to appear tragic in Incontinence, Indiana, was redundant, and his mother kept shouting at him and making him forget his rhymes. "Tommy, if you keep grinding your teeth like that, they'll wear away and you'll have to have dentures like Aunt Ester." Tommy only wished his beard was as heavy as Aunt Ester's---then he could stare out over the moors while he stroked it pensively.”

IfsTryingMotherDarkSpaceForgetHeroHeavyTeethStaringTragicVersesRhymeAuntBeardShoutingIndianaBroodingRedundantMoorsMoldingIncontinence
Author:Christopher Moore
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“Sitting in the flickering light of the candles on this kerchief of sand, on this village square, we waited in the night. We were waiting for the rescuing dawn - or for the Moors. Something, I know not what, lent this night a savor of Christmas. We told stories, we joked, we sang songs. In the air there was that slight fever that reigns over a gaily prepared feast. And yet we were infinitely poor. Wind, sand, and stars. The austerity of Trappists. But on this badly lighted cloth, a handful of men who possessed nothing in the world but their memories were sharing invisible riches.”

KnowsMenWorldStoriesLightNightSongStarsWaitingMemoriesPoorAirWindSittingPreparedRichesInvisibleDawnSandVillageSquaresCandlePossessedReignHandfulFeverAusterityMoorsFlickering Light
Author:Antoine de Saint-Exupery
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“The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, 'Let me in - let me in!' 'Who are you?' I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. 'Catherine Linton,' it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of LINTON? I had read EARNSHAW twenty times for Linton) - 'I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!' As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window.”

ThinkingWayChildrenHomeHandsFacesLostVoiceStruggleArmsHorrorDrawsWindowLet MeTwentiesIntenseMy WayNightmareSpokesMelancholyComing HomeMoorsLinton
Book:Wuthering Heights
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“Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--- No---yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever---or else swoon in death.”

FeelsHumansArtStillsEarthMovingNightFallStarsWaterTakenSweetPureMountainEternalFairsTasksBreathsPatientRoundsSnowFallenAwakeBreastsMaskShoreHungLoneGazingUnrestUnchangeableSplendourMoorsRipeningBright StarRound EarthMoving Water
Author:John Keats
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“Now that I think about it, maybe he is a werewolf. I can picture him lunging over the moors in hot pursuit of his prey, and I'm certain that he wouldn't think twice about eating an innocent bystander. I'll watch him closely at the next full moon. He's asked me to go dancing tomorrow--perhaps I should wear a high collar. Oh, that's vampires, isn't it? I think I am a little giddy. (After meeting Mr. Markham V. Reynolds, Jr.)”

ThinkingShouldLittlesI CanCertainNextWatchesTomorrowMoonEatingDatingHotDancingMeetingsPursuitInnocentVampirePreyWerewolfCollarsThink TwiceFull MoonGiddyBystandersMoors
Book:The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
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“Perhaps I am too tame, too domestic a magician. But how does one work up a little madness? I meet with mad people every day in the street, but I never thought before to wonder how they got mad. Perhaps I should go wandering on lonely moors and barren shores. That is always a popular place for lunatics - in novels and plays at any rate. Perhaps wild England will make me mad.”

PeopleShouldLittlesDoePlayWonderNovelStreetsLonelyMadnessEnglandMadRateWanderShoreMagicianBarrenMoors
Book:Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell
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“She wished she could talk as he did. His speech was so quick and easy. It sounded as if he liked her and was not the least afraid she would not like him, though he was only a common moor boy, in patched clothes and with a funny face and a rough, rusty-red head.”

IfsFacesEasyCommonBoysSpeechClothesRedRoughMoorsSecret GardenFunny Face
Book:Charming Novels of Classic Heroines: Pollyanna, The Secret Garden, Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm
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“The coast's a jungle of Moors, Turks, Jews, renegades from all over Europe, sitting in palaces built from the sale of Christian slaves. There are twenty thousand men, women and children in the bagnios of Algiers alone. I am not going to make it twenty thousand and one because your mother didn't allow you to keep rabbits, or whatever is at the root of your unshakable fixation." "I had weasels instead," said Philippa shortly. "Good God," said Lymond, looking at her. "That explains a lot.”

MenChildrenSaidChristianMotherThousandSittingEuropeBuiltRootsTwentiesSlaveJewCoastJungleRabbitsPalacesMen WomenGood GodUnshakableFixationWeaselsMoorsRenegades
Author:Dorothy Dunnett
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“I stepped closer still. He closed his eyes again and covered my hand with his own. 'You smell of violets. You always smell of violets,' he said. 'You've no idea how many times I have walked these moors and smelled them and thought you were near. On and on I walked, following the scent of you, and you were never there. When I saw you in the hall tonight, I thought I had finally gone mad.”

SaidStillsIdeasHandsEyeGoneSawsMadFollowingSmellNo IdeaHis EyesTonightHallsCoveredScentVioletMoors
Book:Silent on the Moor
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“Were I the Moor I would not be Iago. In following him I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so for my peculiar end. For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, ’tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at. I am not what I am”

HeartLongEndsActionHeavenFiguresJudgingDutyMy HeartFollowingNativeComplimentPeculiarSleevesSeemingMoorsHeart On My Sleeve
Author:William Shakespeare
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