Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Trotwood. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Trotwood Quotes And Sayings by 93 Authors including Cassandra Clare,Robert Frost,Alexander Smith,John Milton,Felicia Hemans for you to enjoy and share.
You are the Lightwoods - you are all that is left of the Lightwoods.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
In winter, when the dismal rain
Comes down in slanting lines,
And Wind, that grand old harper, smote
His thunder-harp of pines.
Fairy damsels met in forest wide / By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, / Lancelot or Pelleas, or Pellenore.
Is it where the flow'r of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance thro' the myrtle boughs?
Night Comes to the Cumberland.
There was something of the wildwood in the man who came and went illusive as moonlight moving through the branches.
The southern edge of town. Tim was a liver-colored bird dog, the pet of Maycomb. "What's he doing?" "I don't know, Scout. We better go home.
the browning Assendelft flatlands, this stranger
Inhaler. Rylie crept around a tree, peering into the darkness. Maybe it was a deer or something. If that's you, Amber, you better hope I don't find you. I'll - I'll beat you
Party name of Thorn? Tristran of that set?
StocktontoMalone
Spooky wild and gusty; swirling dervishes of rattling leaves race by, fleeing the windflung deadwood that cracks and thumps behind.
Does anyone remember the name of Paul Revere's horse?
To meet her fate beneath the rowan trees in the hills near
What inn is this
Where for the night
Peculiar traveller comes?
Who is the landlord?
Where are the maids?
Behold, what curious rooms!
No ruddy fires on the hearth,
No brimming tankards flow.
Necromancer, landlord,
Who are these below?
Little strokes fell great oaks.
Taniquetil, glorious to behold, loftiest of all mountains clad in purest snow,
Thomasville, North Carolina. A
The pine is the mother of legends.
Trochee trips from long to short; From long to long in solemn sort Slow Spondee stalks.
the Dew-Drop Inn & Fishing Camp;
The Dew-Drop Inn & Fishing Camp;
Taylor Maddox, sir. US Forest Service trash.
Akthent on thee latht thyllable.
Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs - To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music lest it should not find An echo in another's mind.
To morrow to fresh Woods, and Pastures new.
Upon moving to Cornwall in 1991, I became bewitched by its enchanting timeless beauty, which captured my heart and holds me still. Brooding and mysterious, the south-eastern edge of Bodmin Moor provided the wild backdrop against which the introduction to my magical training and love of nature began.
Tall oaks branch charmed by the earnest stars Dream and so dream all night without a stir.
Shortly after his launch into eternity, Bonepenney's room at the inn is rifled by a maiden fair whose name I dare not utter aloud but who now sits demurely before me ...
Come with me to the Winged Isle- Northern father's Western child Where the Dance of Ages is playing still through far marches of Acres Wild.
There are noble mausoleums rooted for centuries in retired glades of parks among the growing timber and the fern, which perhaps hold fewer noble secrets than walk abroad among men, shut up in the breast of Mr. Tulkinghorn.
Cow - Tanith Low
In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within a dark woods where the straight way was lost.
Nowhere beats the heart so kindly as beneath the tartan plaid!
Forest University
Primeval forests! virgin sod! That Saxon has not ravish'd yet, Lo! peak on peak in stairways set- In stepping stairs that reach to God! Here we are free as sea or wind, For here are set Time's snowy tents In everlasting battlements Against the march of Saxon mind.
Huntleigh's (Yes, I gave them a cheesy couple name in my mind)
The Grindstone III. The Shadow IV. Calm in Storm V. The Wood-Sawyer
The woods of Arcady are dead,
And over it their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Gray Truth is now her painted toy.
What will the solemn Hemlock- What will the Oak tree say?
Here grew willows and alders, their trunks twisted like giants' sinews. Around them bark lichen bloomed blue-white in the darkness. It felt like a good place, where there was old magic.
A brotherhood of venerable trees.
Weave for the mighty chestnut
A tributary crown
Of autumn leaves, the brightest then
When autumn leaves are brown
Hang up his bridle on the wall,
His saddle on the tree,
Till time shall bring some racing king
Worthy to wear as he!
Tangaloor, fire-bright
Flame-foot, farthest walker
Your hunter speaks
In need he walks
In need, but never in fear.
Few areas which are not publicly owned can boast as many footpaths as the Cuckmere Valley. For a short walk, a footbridge across the river leads back to the little hamlet of Milton Street, where another classic local pub, the Sussex Ox, provides an admirable lunch.
Twilight whippoorwill ... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
Ere so sober Emily/ Did New England sow/ With brooms of activity/ I'd the tree-rock spoken to.
As a Midlander and a big walker, I'd always loved ridge and furrow fields, the plough-marked land as it was when it was enclosed. It is the landscape giving you a story of lives that ended with the arrival of sheep.
I had a fine prospect of the whole ring of moorland. I saw the car speed away with two occupants, and a man on a hill pony riding east. I judged they were looking for me, and I wished them joy of their quest.
Winter crescent resting in the high pine bough - you fly through the woods like a lone snow bird ...
Blue Juneberry, tough diamond willow.
There seemed to be a magic all round that fire of big logs quietly smouldering in the woods upon Autumn's discarded robe that lay brilliant there; and it was not the magic of Elfland, nor had Ziroonderel called it up with her wand: it was only a magic of the wood's very own. And
I have gone to the forest
Thor's Morning Wood
Wood between the Worlds,
Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal the mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne.
The night, Charlene made the long ride
Well, I'm not quite certain yet, young Mr. Fitzpatrick. I am considering the name Willow Hills. Or perhaps Maple Falls. What would you suggest?
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
Turn, gentle Hermit of the Dale, And guide my lonely way To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray.
For pines are gossip pines the wide world through And full of runic tales to sigh or sing.
T.H. moved through the forest like the melody of a well-known song, in perfect harmony with his surroundings.
Do behold the king in his glory, King Sequoia. Behold! Behold! seems all I can say ... Well may I fast, not from bread but from business, bookmaking, duty doing & other trifles ... I'm in the woods woods woods, & they are in mee-ee-ee ... I wish I were wilder & so bless Sequoia I will be.
Whither thou goest...
There's something stalking us. Off to the side of the road, moving through the forest.'
Kettricken smiled.
Jockey Wilson, he comes from the valleys and he's chuffing like a choo-choo train!
I shall desire and I shall find
The best of my desires;
The autumn road, the mellow wind
That soothes the darkening shires.
And laughter, and inn-fires.
Aelin of the wildfire.
Where is there a boy to whom the call of the wild and the open road does not appeal?
Where dreams may take you fathoms deep within the soul of the forest. Mists close in around your feathered visions, floating phantoms of days gone by, and days to come, their twirling tendrils tempting your thoughts blossom with the unbound less love and passion you hide within.....
We all have forests on our minds. Forests unexplored, unending. Each one of us gets lost in the forest, every night, alone.
Tread not into the fearsome night
But pull the covers high,
Step not into the wild dark wood
For the Hobbers are dancing nigh
Stock runnin' on the plains south of the Platte all the way
Richie Beirach Trio
When you gentlemen come to stand at the Boundary between the Settl'd and the Unpossess'd, just about to enter the Deep Woods, you will recognize the Sensation ...
Fox Creek Road. Such a simple, unassuming name for this place where destiny's going to go down. Now I know the where. And the who, and the what. All I have to figure out is the when. And the why.
You will find the way, daughter of the forest. Through grief and pain, through many trials, through betrayal and loss, your feet will walk a straight path.
To the counsell of fooles a woodden bell.
I am a woodlander, I have sap in my veins,
Little black horse. Where are you taking your dead rider?
I have lived ten years of wild rovings, of conquests and discoveries, in those woods; the day when I have to leave them my heart will be very heavy.
by Rebecca 0 minutes ago
" Tink's titties!" Jenks from any of Kim Harrison's books on The Hollows. (aka Cincinnati,OH)
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Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
What youth or maiden conspires with the wild luxuriant beauty of Nature? She flourishes most alone, far from the towns where they reside.
To-day I wear these chains, and am HERE. To-morrow I shall be fetterless!
BUT WHERE?
six black Cordelias
And so one more to the wandering road. Beyond Blackheath the highway began a steep and curvaceous descent towards Lithgow, where it skirted along hem of the mountains ...
Now is rather a questionable one. And thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the copper beeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived,
An autumn forest is such a place that once entered you never look for the exit!
Redheaded Peckerwood, which unerringly walks the fine line between fiction and nonfiction, is a disturbingly beautiful narrative about unfathomable violence and its place on the land
Seductive pull of the forest, an open canvas for trouble.
I went on a Saturday afternoon, once more cutting through Dorrance Marstellar's cornfield
Newrose, oldrose, Queen Anne's lace. Water, river, stone, and sun. Wind over hill, under tree. Past the border none can see. Climbing into dark for you Will you wait in stars for me? I
The whole wood seemed running now, running hard, hunting, chasing, closing in round something or - somebody? In panic, he began to run too, aimlessly, he knew not whither.
Forest, I fear you! In my ruined heart your roaring wakens the same agony as in cathedrals when the organ moans and from the depths I hear that I am damned.
CASTLES IN THE AIR Laurie
Witches escape to the forest to listen to the whispers of nature itself...
Harlow's monkeys,
Tazburg, Mise, Divine, South Ridge. He read the names off the