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Mountains Quotes

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Mountains Quotes

“We read the pagan sacred books with profit and delight. With myth and fable we are ever charmed, and find a pleasure in the endless repetition of the beautiful, poetic, and absurd. We find, in all these records of the past, philosophies and dreams, and efforts stained with tears, of great and tender souls who tried to pierce the mystery of life and death, to answer the eternal questions of the Whence and Whither, and vainly sought to make, with bits of shattered glass, a mirror that would, in very truth, reflect the face and form of Nature's perfect self. These myths were born of hopes, and fears, and tears, and smiles, and they were touched and colored by all there is of joy and grief between the rosy dawn of birth, and death's sad night. They clothed even the stars with passion, and gave to gods the faults and frailties of the sons of men. In them, the winds and waves were music, and all the lakes, and streams, and springs,—the mountains, woods and perfumed dells were haunted by a thousand fairy forms. They thrilled the veins of Spring with tremulous desire; made tawny Summer's billowed breast the throne and home of love; filled Autumns arms with sun-kissed grapes, and gathered sheaves; and pictured Winter as a weak old king who felt, like Lear upon his withered face, Cordelia's tears. These myths, though false, are beautiful, and have for many ages and in countless ways, enriched the heart and kindled thought. But if the world were taught that all these things are true and all inspired of God, and that eternal punishment will be the lot of him who dares deny or doubt, the sweetest myth of all the Fable World would lose its beauty, and become a scorned and hateful thing to every brave and thoughtful man.”

“I could simply kill you now, get it over with, who would know the difference? I could easily kick you in, stove you under, for all those times, mean on gin, you rammed words into my belly. (p. 52)”

“oh. she heard it too-no waters coursing, canyon empty, sun soundless- and the beast your life nowhere hiding (p. 103)”

“...gripping the rim of the sink you claw your way to stand and cling there, quaking with will, on heron legs, and still the hot muck pours out of you. (p. 27)”

“Trekking means a travelling experience with a thrilling excitement.”

“পা ফেললে এখানে কোনো শব্দ হয় না। পাতার নরম আর্দ্র গালচেয় পা পড়ে। ভুরভুর করে আতরের মত বনজগন্ধ ওঠে। এখনও হু হু করে হাওয়া বইছে, ভেজা জঙ্গল — পাহাড়ের প্রভাতী গন্ধ বয়ে — সেই পরিষ্কার, নির্মল শীতল হাওয়া ফুসফুসের হয়ত হৃদয়েরও যা কিছু কালিমা সব সঙ্গে সঙ্গে মুছে নিচ্ছে।”

“If your mind can move mountains and swallow gods, Why does it worry with helpless yesterdays and unborn tomorrows? If it can vomit stars and walk on split hairs, Why must it follow the same path to despair? Everyone will tell you: 'An orgasm here is just as good.”

“There are no smooth paths to success. You have to straighten many rugged roads and scale numerous walls for the ultimate triumph.”

“With great abilities come great responsibilities; great power comes with great assignments. With great age comes great reasoning; great actions come great experience. With great battles come great victories; great trees come with great tap roots. However, if a little faith can move great mountains, what then will a great faith do? Mysterious things... I guess”

“El Yauco is the mountain that stands across the Baluarte from Rosario. The top of it looks like the profile of John F. Kennedy in repose. The only flaw in this geographic wonder is that the nose is upside-down. Once, when Jaime and I had painfully struggled to the summit to investigate the nose, we found this message: MOTHER NATURE HAS NO RESPECT FOR YANQUI PRESIDENTS EITHER!”

“Boys climb hills “because they are there.” Men climb mountains because they know there is something beyond them and they want to see it. They want to see what is “behind,” “farther in,” and “deeper down.” Men are not afraid of what they will find. They know something is there because no matter where man has looked, there has always been more. Armchair explorers call that more “randomness.” Real explorers call it God.”

“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.”

“In the silence of the ticking of the clock's minute hand, I found you. In the echoes of the reverberations of time, I found you. In the tender silence of the long summer night, I found you. In the fragrance of the rose petals, I found you. In the orange of the sunset, I found you. In the blue of the morning sky, I found you. In the echoes of the mountains, I found you. In the green of the valleys, I found you. In the chaos of this world, I found you. In the turbulence of the oceans, I found you. In the shrill cries of the grasshopper at night, I found you. In the gossamer sublimity of the silken cobweb, I found you.”

“Several shades of hazy blue hung over the landscape like a heavy tapestry, giving the Blue Ridge Mountains its name. I stopped at one of the scenic overlooks, switched off the bike, and sat in the absolute stillness of the mountains. Their silence was a soothing balm for my soul. The maternal rhythm of nature is a tonic that heals emotionally. I just wanted to sit still, breathe deeply, and match my heartbeat to that rhythm.”

“Therefore am I still / A lover of the meadows and the woods, / And mountains; and of all that we behold / From this green earth; of all the mighty world / Of eye and ear, both what they half create / And what perceive; well pleased to recognize / In nature and the language of the sense, / The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse/ The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul / Of all my moral being.”

“Left alone, I am overtaken by the northern void-no wind, no cloud, no track, no bird, only the crystal crescents between peaks, the ringing monuments of rock that, freed from the talons of ice and snow, thrust an implacable being into the blue. In the early light, the rock shadows on the snow are sharp; in the tension between light and dark is the power of the universe. This stillness to which all returns, this is reality, and soul and sanity have no more meaning than a gust of snow; such transience and insignificance are exalting, terrifying, all at once…Snow mountains, more than sea or sky, serve as a mirror to one’s own true being, utterly still, utterly clear, a void, an Emptiness without life or sound that carries in Itself all life, all sound.”

“Bergen zoals deze, en reizigers in de bergen, en hun lotgevallen treft men niet alleen aan in Zen-literatuur, maar in de exemplarische vertellingen van iedere grote religie. De allegorische voorstelling van een natuurlijke berg voor de geestelijke berg die tussen iedere ziel en zijn doel staat, werpt zich makkelijk en als vanzelfsprekend op. Zoals iedereen in het dal beneden ons, staan de meeste mensen hun hele leven voor de aanblik van de geestelijke bergen in hun leven waarin zij zich nooit begeven, tevreden als ze zijn met de verhalen van degenen die er geweest zijn, en op die manier vermijden ze de beproevingen. Sommige reizen in de bergen begeleid door ervaren gidsen die de beste en minst gevaarlijke wegen kennen die tot hun bestemming leiden. Weer anderen, meest onervaren en zonder vertrouwen, wagen het hun eigen weg te ontdekken. Slechts weinigen slagen daarin, maar af en toe halen enkelen het door louter wilskracht, geluk en genade. Zodra zij zijn gearriveerd beseffen zij beter dan alle anderen dat er niet één, of een vast aantal wegen bestaat. Er zijn zoveel wegen als er afzonderlijke zielen zijn.”

“But until then, and right now, the sun is bright, the air is cool, my head is clear, there’s a whole day ahead of us, we’re almost to the mountains, it’s a good day to be alive. It’s this thinner air that does it. You always feel like this when you start getting into higher altitudes.”

“Mountains like these and travelers in the mountains and events that happen to them here are found not only in Zen literature but in the tales of every major religion. This allegory of a physical mountain for the spiritual one that stands between each soul and its goal is an easy and natural one to make. Like those in the valley behind us, most people stand in sight of the spiritual mountains all their lives and never enter them, being content to listen to others who have been there and thus avoid the hardships. Some travel into the mountains accompanied by experienced guides who know the best and least dangerous routes by which they arrive at their destination. Still others, inexperienced and untrusting, attempt to make their own routes. Few of these are successful, but occasionally some, by sheer will and luck and grace, do make it. Once there they become more aware than any of the others that there's no single or fixed number of routes. There are as many routes as there are individual souls.”

“The title of this Chautauqua is "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," not "Zen and the Art of Mountain Climbing," and there are no motorcycles on the tops of mountains, and in my opinion very little Zen. Zen is the "spirit of the valley," not the mountaintop. The only Zen you fin on the tops of mountains is the Zen you bring up there.”

“I grow into these mountains like a moss. I am bewitched. The blinding snow peaks and the clarion air, the sound of earth and heaven in the silence, the requiem birds, the mythic beasts, the flags, great horns, and old carved stones, the silver ice in the black river, the Kang, the Crystal Mountain. Also, I love the common miracles-the murmur of my friends at evening, the clay fires of smudgy juniper, the coarse dull food, the hardship and simplicity, the contentment of doing one thing at a time… gradually my mind has cleared itself, and wind and sun pour through my head, as through a bell. Though we talk little here, I am never lonely; I am returned into myself. In another life-this isn’t what I know, but how I feel- these mountains were my home; there is a rising of forgotten knowledge, like a spring from hidden aquifers under the earth. To glimpse one’s own true nature is a kind of homegoing, to a place East of the Sun, West of the Moon- the homegoing that needs no home, like that waterfall on the supper Suli Gad that turns to mist before touching the earth and rises once again to the sky.”

“I sit in meditation…and soon all sounds, and all one sees and feels, take on imminence, an immanence, as if the Universe were coming to attention, a Universe of which one is the center, a Universe that is not the same yet not different from oneself: within man as within mountains there are many parts of hydrogen and oxygen, of calcium, phosphorus, potassium, and other elements. ‘You never enjoy the world aright, till the Sea itself flows in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars…’(Thomas Traherne, Centuries of Meditation) The secret of the mountains is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself: the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no ‘meaning,’ they are meaning; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and the mountains ring, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share.”

“Full of woe means greater depth, greater awareness and empathy. Full of woe means challenges to meet, mountains to climb, finding joy in odd, small places, finding meaning in dark times. And we've certainly got dark times, and many challenges... Wednesday builds resilience so you can walk the miles of Thursday. On to Thursday. We still have far to go.”