Quotes about pine
page 2

Clive Staples Lewis photo

“When I attempted, a few minutes ago, to describe our spiritual longings, I was omitting one of their most curious characteristics. We usually notice it just as the moment of vision dies away, as the music ends or as the landscape loses the celestial light. What we feel then has been well described by Keats as “the journey homeward to habitual self.” You know what I mean. For a few minutes we have had the illusion of belonging to that world. Now we wake to find that it is no such thing. We have been mere spectators. Beauty has smiled, but not to welcome us; her face was turned in our direction, but not to see us. We have not been accepted, welcomed, or taken into the dance. We may go when we please, we may stay if we can: “Nobody marks us.” A scientist may reply that since most of the things we call beautiful are inanimate, it is not very surprising that they take no notice of us. That, of course, is true. It is not the physical objects that I am speaking of, but that indescribable something of which they become for a moment the messengers. And part of the bitterness which mixes with the sweetness of that message is due to the fact that it so seldom seems to be a message intended for us but rather something we have overheard. By bitterness I mean pain, not resentment. We should hardly dare to ask that any notice be taken of ourselves. But we pine. The sense that in this universe we are treated as strangers, the longing to be acknowledged, to meet with some response, to bridge some chasm that yawns between us and reality, is part of our inconsolable secret. And surely, from this point of view, the promise of glory, in the sense described, becomes highly relevant to our deep desire. For glory meant good report with God, acceptance by God, response, acknowledgment, and welcome into the heart of things. The door on which we have been knocking all our lives will open at last.”

Clive Staples Lewis (1898–1963) Christian apologist, novelist, and Medievalist

The Weight of Glory (1949)

Robert Frost photo
Kalle Päätalo photo
Wang Wei photo

“The bright moon shines between the pines.
The crystal stream flows over the pebbles.”

Wang Wei (699–759) a Tang dynasty Chinese poet, musician, painter, and statesman

"Autumn Twilight in the Mountains" (山居秋暝), trans. Kenneth Rexroth

Mani Madhava Chakyar photo
William James photo

“Out of my experience, such as it is (and it is limited enough) one fixed conclusion dogmatically emerges, and that is this, that we with our lives are like islands in the sea, or like trees in the forest. The maple and the pine may whisper to each other with their leaves. … But the trees also commingle their roots in the darkness underground, and the islands also hang together through the ocean's bottom. Just so there is a continuum of cosmic consciousness, against which our individuality builds but accidental fences, and into which our several minds plunge as into a mother-sea or reservoir.”

William James (1842–1910) American philosopher, psychologist, and pragmatist

"Confidences of a 'Psychical Researcher'" http://hcl.harvard.edu/libraries/houghton/exhibits/james/psychical/7_8.cfm, in The American Magazine, Vol. 68 (1909), p. 589
Often (mis)quoted as: "We are like islands in the sea; separate on the surface but connected in the deep", or: "Our lives are like islands in the sea, or like trees in the forest, which co-mingle their roots in the darkness underground."
1900s

Sei Shonagon photo
Martin Farquhar Tupper photo

“Clamorous pauperism feasteth
While honest Labor, pining, hideth his sharp ribs.”

Martin Farquhar Tupper (1810–1889) English writer and poet

Of Discretion.
Proverbial Philosophy (1838-1849)

Michael Moorcock photo
Han-shan photo
Ho Chi Minh photo

“Remember that the storm is a good opportunity for the pine and the cypress to show their strength and their stability.”

Ho Chi Minh (1890–1969) Vietnamese communist leader and first president of Vietnam

As quoted in From Colonialism to Communism : A Case History of North Vietnam (1964) by Văn Chí Hoàng, p. 37

Letitia Elizabeth Landon photo

“It was hidden in a wild wood
Of the larch and pine;
It had been unto his childhood
Solitude and shrine, —
There he dream'd the hours away.”

Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802–1838) English poet and novelist

(1836-2) (Vol.47) Subjects for Pictures. III. Rienzi Showing Nina the Tomb of his Brother
The Monthly Magazine

James Macpherson photo

“I beheld their chief, tall as a glittering rock. His spear is a blasted pine. His shield the rising moon! He sat on the shore, like a cloud of mist on the silent hill!”

James Macpherson (1736–1796) Scottish writer, poet, translator, and politician

Book I
The Poems of Ossian, Fingal, an ancient Epic Poem

Arthur Rimbaud photo

“Sweeter than apples to children
The green water spurted through my pine-wood hull.”

Arthur Rimbaud (1854–1891) French Decadent and Symbolist poet

Plus douce qu'aux enfants la chair des pommes sures,
L'eau verte pénétra ma coque de sapin.
St. 5
Le Bateau Ivre http://www.mag4.net/Rimbaud/poesies/Boat.html (The Drunken Boat) (1871)

Joseph Warton photo
Robert Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Earl of Lytton photo
Letitia Elizabeth Landon photo
Letitia Elizabeth Landon photo
Letitia Elizabeth Landon photo
Linus Torvalds photo

“Do you pine for the nice days of minix-1.1, when men were men and wrote their own device drivers?
[…]
I can (well, almost) hear you asking yourselves "why?". Hurd will be out in a year (or two, or next month, who knows), and I've already got minix.”

Linus Torvalds (1969) Finnish-American software engineer and hacker

, announcing Linux version 0.02. The Hurd 0.0 was released in August 1996 and as of 2015, is still not complete.</p>
1990s, 1991-94

Jean Toomer photo
Douglas Coupland photo

“Bleeding Ponytail: An elderly sold out baby boomer who pines for hippie or pre-sellout days.”

Douglas Coupland (1961) Canadian novelist, short story writer, playwright, and graphic designer

Definitions

George Gordon Byron photo
Samuel Taylor Coleridge photo

“Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines.”

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834) English poet, literary critic and philosopher

"Hymn in the Vale of Chamouni" (1802)

“You have seen bigger horses than his thirteen and a half, perhaps fourteen hands, his nine hundred pounds. You have seen handsomer profiles than this Roman nose, slightly convex. Burrs cling to his long sweeping tail. His coat is dark and unglossed. Yet look again, while he is still, for he will not be still long. Sense the vitality in those muscles, trembling beneath the skin; see the pride in that high head, hear the haughty command to his voice. For this is a wild horse, my friend. Once he claimed the western range. Then they took his range away from him. But nothing, no one claims him. He feels the wind and the air with his nose, with his ears, with his very soul, and what he feels is good. He tosses his head, once, quickly, and behind him his harem of six mares trot up to join him, and behind them, a yearling colt, a filly and two stork-legged foals. Coats dusty and chewed, tails spiked with bits of the desert, sage and nettle and leftover pine needles from winter climbs down from timberland. The Barb-nosed stallion led his family down to the waterhole. Not Barb from barbed wire, though perhaps the chewed skin was from barbed wire, but Barb from the Spanish horses from which he descended, brought to the New World over four hundred years ago, from the Barbary states of North Africa, Tunisia, Morocco, Algeria, Fez, Tripoli. Indians stole them from the Spaniards; the Barbs stole themselves free from the Indians. Running wild, a few still run free.”

Arnold Hano (1922) American writer

From Running Wild (1973) by Hano, p. 10
Other Topics

Letitia Elizabeth Landon photo
Ian McEwan photo

“Nearby, where the main road forked, stood an iron cross on a stone base. As the English couple watched, a mason was cutting in half a dozen fresh names. On the far side of the street, in the deep shadow of a doorway, a youngish woman in black was also watching. She was so pale they assumed at first she had some sort of wasting disease. She remained perfectly still, with one hand holding an edge of her headscarf so that it obscured her mouth. The mason seemed embarrassed and kept his back to her while he worked. After a quarter of an hour an old man in blue workman's clothes came shuffling along in carpet slippers and took her hand without a word and led her away. When the propriétaire came out he nodded at the other side of the street, at the empty space and murmured, 'Trois. Mari et deux frères,' as he set down their salads.This sombre incident remained with them as they struggled up the hill in the heat, heavy with lunch, towards the Bergerie de Tédenat. They stopped half way up in the shade of a stand of pines before a long stretch of open ground. Bernard was to remember this moment for the rest of his life. As they drank from their water bottles he was struck by the recently concluded war not as a historical, geopolitical fact but as a multiplicity, a near-infinity of private sorrows, as a boundless grief minutely subdivided without diminishment among individuals who covered the continent like dust, like spores whose separate identities would remain unknown, and whose totality showed more sadness than anyone could ever begin to comprehend; a weight borne in silence by hundreds of thousands, millions, like the woman in black for a husband and two brothers, each grief a particular, intricate, keening love story that might have been otherwise. It seemed as though he had never thought about the war before, not about its cost. He had been so busy with the details of his work, of doing it well, and his widest view had been of war aims, of winning, of statistical deaths, statistical destruction, and of post-war reconstruction. For the first time he sensed the scale of the catastrophe in terms of feeling; all those unique and solitary deaths, all that consequent sorrow, unique and solitary too, which had no place in conferences, headlines, history, and which had quietly retired to houses, kitchens, unshared beds, and anguished memories. This came upon Bernard by a pine tree in the Languedoc in 1946 not as an observation he could share with June but as a deep apprehension, a recognition of a truth that dismayed him into silence and, later, a question: what possible good could come of a Europe covered in this dust, these spores, when forgetting would be inhuman and dangerous, and remembering a constant torture?”

Page 164-165.
Black Dogs (1992)

William Jones photo
John Muir photo

“Lie down among the pines for a while, then get to plain pure white love-work … to help humanity and other mortals and the Lord.”

John Muir (1838–1914) Scottish-born American naturalist and author

letter to Mrs. J.D. Hooker http://www.westadamsheritage.org/katharine-putnam-hooker (19 September 1911); published in The Life and Letters of John Muir http://www.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/life/life_and_letters/default.aspx (1924), chapter 17, II; and in John Muir's Last Journey, edited by Michael P. Branch (Island Press, 2001), page 67
1910s

Robert Southwell photo

“The mountain moon shines on a cloudless sky.
Deep in the night the wind rises among the pines.
I wish to weave my thoughts into a song for my jade lute,
But the pine wind never ceases blowing.”

"Written at Mauve Garden: Pine Wind Terrace" (tr. Y. N. Chang and Lewis C. Walmsley), in Sunflower Splendor: Three Thousand Years of Chinese Poetry, eds. Wu-chi Liu and Irving Yucheng Lo (1975), p. 477; also in The Luminous Landscape: Chinese Art and Poetry, ed. Richard Lewis (1981), p. 57.

Pauline Johnson photo

“The pine trees whispering, the gerons cry
The plover's passing wing, his lullaby”

Pauline Johnson (1861–1913) Canadian poet and performer

from The Camper

John Muir photo

“Sit down in climbing, and hear the pines sing.”

John Muir (1838–1914) Scottish-born American naturalist and author

page 428
John of the Mountains, 1938

Billy Joel photo
Ferdinand Hodler photo
Luther Burbank photo
Gerard Manley Hopkins photo
Bill Maher photo
Letitia Elizabeth Landon photo
Robert Stanley Weir photo
Homér photo

“So here the twins were laid low at Aeneas' hands,
down they crashed like lofty pine trees axed.”

V. 559–560 (tr. Robert Fagles).
Iliad (c. 750 BC)

Steve Kilbey photo
Väinö Linna photo
Alan Watts photo
Wallace Stevens photo

“One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow”

"The Snow Man"
Harmonium (1923)
Context: p>One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitterOf the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare placeFor the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.</p

Willa Cather photo

“The great pines stand at a considerable distance from each other. Each tree grows alone, murmurs alone, thinks alone. They do not intrude upon each other.”

Part IV, ch. 1
The Song of the Lark (1915)
Context: The great pines stand at a considerable distance from each other. Each tree grows alone, murmurs alone, thinks alone. They do not intrude upon each other. The Navajos are not much in the habit of giving or of asking help. Their language is not a communicative one, and they never attempt an interchange of personality in speech. Over their forests there is the same inexorable reserve. Each tree has its exalted power to bear.

Robert Frost photo
Richard Wilbur photo

“My dog lay dead five days without a grave
In the thick of summer, hid in a clump of pine
And a jungle of grass and honey-suckle vine.”

Richard Wilbur (1921–2017) American poet

The Pardon
Context: My dog lay dead five days without a grave
In the thick of summer, hid in a clump of pine
And a jungle of grass and honey-suckle vine.
I who had loved him while he kept alive
Went only close enough to where he was
To sniff the heavy honeysuckle-smell
Twined with another odor heavier still
And hear the flies' intolerable buzz.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky photo

“They looked forward to that moment with joy, but without haste, not pining for it, but seeming to have a foretaste of it in their hearts, of which they talked to one another.”

Source: The Dream of a Ridiculous Man (1877), IV
Context: They had no temples, but they had a real living and uninterrupted sense of oneness with the whole of the universe; they had no creed, but they had a certain knowledge that when their earthly joy had reached the limits of earthly nature, then there would come for them, for the living and for the dead, a still greater fullness of contact with the whole of the universe. They looked forward to that moment with joy, but without haste, not pining for it, but seeming to have a foretaste of it in their hearts, of which they talked to one another.

E. B. White photo

“This is the dream we had, asleep in our chair, thinking of Christmas in the lands of fir tree and pine, Christmas in lands of palm tree and vine, and of how the one great sky does for all places and all people.”

E. B. White (1899–1985) American writer

The Wild Flag (1943)
Context: This is the dream we had, asleep in our chair, thinking of Christmas in the lands of fir tree and pine, Christmas in lands of palm tree and vine, and of how the one great sky does for all places and all people.
After the third great war was over (this was a curious dream), there was no more than a handful of people left alive, and the earth was in ruins and the ruins were horrible to behold. The people, the survivors, decided to meet to talk over their problem and to make a lasting peace, which is the customary thing to make after a long and exhausting war. There were eighty-three countries, and each country sent a delegate to the convention. One English-man came, one Peruvian, one Ethiopian, one Frenchman, one Japanese, and so on, until every country was represented.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson photo

“O Love! what hours were thine and mine,
In lands of palm and southern pine;
In lands of palm, of orange-blossom,
Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!”

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892) British poet laureate

The Daisy, Stanza 1; reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919)

Kate Bush photo

“Ooh, it gets dark! It gets lonely,
On the other side from you.
I pine a lot. I find the lot
Falls through without you.”

Kate Bush (1958) British recording artist; singer, songwriter, musician and record producer

Song lyrics, The Kick Inside (1978)
Context: Ooh, it gets dark! It gets lonely,
On the other side from you.
I pine a lot. I find the lot
Falls through without you.
I'm coming back, love.
Cruel Heathcliff, my one dream,
My only master.

Ryōkan photo

“The village has disappeared in the evening mist
And the path is hard to follow.
Walking through the pines,
I return to my lonely hut.”

Ryōkan (1758–1831) Japanese Buddhist monk

Zen Poetics of Ryokan (2006)

Ralph Waldo Emerson photo

“My book should smell of pines and resound with the hum of insects.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882) American philosopher, essayist, and poet

1840s, Essays: First Series (1841), Self-Reliance
Context: In this pleasing contrite wood-life which God allows me, let me record day by day my honest thought without prospect or retrospect, and, I cannot doubt it, it will be found symmetrical, though I mean it not and see it not. My book should smell of pines and resound with the hum of insects.

Vitruvius photo

“Cypress and pine are also just as admirable; for although they… are apt to warp”

Source: De architectura (The Ten Books On Architecture) (~ 15BC), Book II, Chapter IX, Sec. 12
Context: The hornbeam... is not a wood that breaks easily and is very convenient to handle. Hence the Greeks call it "zygia," because they make of it yokes for their draught animals... Cypress and pine are also just as admirable; for although they... are apt to warp when used in buildings... they can be kept to a great age without rotting because the liquid contained within their substances has a bitter taste which by its pungency prevents the entrance of decay or of those little creatures which are destructive. Hence buildings made of these kinds of wood last for an unending period of time.

Franz Bardon photo
William Ellery Channing photo
Fidel Castro photo
Anton Mauve photo

“Heavenly wonderfully beautiful that Wolfhezerland with its stream and pines..”

Anton Mauve (1838–1888) Dutch painter (1838–1888)

translation from original Dutch, Fons Heijnsbroek, 2018
(version in original Dutch / origineel citaat van Anton Mauve, in het Nederlands:) Goddelijk heerlijk schoon dat Wolfhezerland met zijne beekje en dennen..
In a letter to Willem Maris, 1863; as cited in: 'Zó Hollands - Het Hollandse landschap in de Nederlandse kunst sinds 1850', Antoon Erftemeijer https://www.franshalsmuseum.nl/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/zohollands_eindversie_def_1.pdf; Frans Hals museum | De Hallen, Haarlem 2011, p. 31
1860's

William Wordsworth photo
William Wordsworth photo
Nasir Khusraw photo
Louise Glück photo
David Bowie photo
Patrick Kavanagh photo