Forest Of Bones Quotes

We see trees - they see only posts and beams. ~ David Kennett

Tell thou the world, when my bones lie whitening
Amid the last homes of youth and eld,
That there was once one whose veins ran lightning
No eye beheld.

And tell how trampled, derided, hated,
And worn by weakness, disease, and wrong,
He fled for shelter to God, who mated
His soul with song-

Tell how this Nameless, condemned for years long
To herd with demons from hell beneath,
Saw things that made him, with groans and tears, long
For even death. ~ James Clarence Mangan

All of that will be gone by morning. Instead, they will dissect this last evening for years to come. What had they missed that they should have seen? What small gesture, forgotten, might have changed everything? They will pick it down to the bones, wondering how this had all gone so wrong, and they will never be sure. ~ Celeste Ng

The silence in the giant redwood forest near my house draws me...At eight in the morning, the great trees stand rooted in a silence so absolute that one's inmost self comes to rest. An aged silence. Some mornings I sleep through two alarms and awaken only after the first buses have arrived. I go anyway. There are hundreds of people in the woods before me. People speaking French, German, Spanish; people marveling to each other and calling to their children in Japanese, Swedish, Russian, and some languages I do not know. And children shrieking in the universal language of childhood. But the silence is always there, unchanged. It is as impervious to these passing sounds as the trees themselves. ~ Rachel Naomi Remen

The whisper of the blood and the pleading of the bone marrow. ~ Knut Hamsun

Are you from Hapsburg?"
He seemed to think about it for a second or two, then gave a small nod.
"I thought I recognized the accent."
The scowl was back full force. "You are an expert on accents?" He managed to sound sarcastic.
"No. My Uncle Otto was from Hapsburg."
He blinked again, and the scowl wilted around the edges. "You are not German." He sounded very sure.
"My father's family is; from Baden-Baden on the edge of the Black Forest but Uncle Otto was from Hamburg.
"You said only your uncle had the accent."
"By the time I came along, most of the family, except for my grandmother, had been in this country so long there was no accent, but Uncle Otto never lost his."
"He's dead now." Olaf made it half question, half statement.
I nodded.
"How did he die?"
"Grandma Blake says Aunt Gertrude nagged him to death."
His lips twitched. "Women are tyrants if a man allows it." His voice was a touch softer now. ~ Laurell K. Hamilton

I'm sorry I smacked you," she said.
He stopped humming. "Just be glad you hit me and not Alec. He would have hit you back. ~ Cassandra Clare

To sustain an environment suitable for man, we must fight on a thousand battlegrounds. Despite all of our wealth and knowledge, we cannot create a redwood forest, a wild river, or a gleaming seashore. ~ Lyndon B. Johnson

Yet no matter what they were doing, everyone in the forest waited with an indrawn breath, waiting for the taste of autumn, the smell of change, the first news of a king and queen unlike any the world had known before. ~ Margaret Rogerson

There's a great maze of tunnels, a Labyrinth. It's like a great dark city, under the hill. Full of gold, and the swords of old heroes, and old crowns, and bones, and years, and silence.'
She spoke if in trance, rapture. Manan watched her. His slabby face never expressed much but stolid, careful sadness; it was sadder than usual now. 'Well, and you're mistress of all that,' he said. 'The silence, and the dark. ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

That day -- Monday, 25 February 1980 -- unfolded, in the context of British politics, much like any other day. Government, in those days, happened rather like a tree falling in a forest when there was no one there to witness it. For those among the Great British Public who wanted to believe that something was happening, the assumption was that something was indeed most probably happening, while for those who still needed to see it, or hear it, to believe it, there remained a high degree of doubt that anything was happening at all. ~ Graham McCann

Finding her voice at last, she asked, "What dreams are you having, sir?"
"I dreamt I was in a spring field and a woman stands in the shadows just at the edge of the nearby forest. I haven't yet seen her face, only her long beautiful hair. I always wake too soon." He reached up to touch the hawk touchstone around his throat as he described his dream, rubbing it absently between his fingers.
Lily lowered her lashes to hide her astonishment. "When you see someone in a dream but cannot see their face, it means you haven't met them yet," she explained.
"Then perhaps I'll dream of her again tonight and this time I'll see her face." He smiled, reaching across the table to take her left hand and lift it to his lips. "My name is Ian Kelly, and it would give me the greatest pleasure to know yours."
"Lily Evans. Around here I go by Raven." She raised a shoulder, indicating the gypsy tent.
"Lily--indeed, a most beautiful name. Now tell me," he stared pointedly at her hand, "I see no ring that another has claimed you as his, so my confidence is strengthened. Look at your cards again, milady, and tell me if you see me in your future… ~ Shannon MacLeod

Call it a good marriage -
For no one ever questioned
Her warmth, his masculinity,
Their interlocking views;
Except one stray graphologist
Who frowned in speculation
At her h's and her s's,
His p's and w's.

Though few would still subscribe
To the monogamic axiom
That strife below the hip-bones
Need not estrange the heart,
Call it a good marriage:
More drew those two together,
Despite a lack of children,
Than pulled them apart.

Call it a good marriage:
They never fought in public,
They acted circumspectly
And faced the world with pride;
Thus the hazards of their love-bed
Were none of our damned business -
Till as jurymen we sat on
Two deaths by suicide. ~ Robert Graves

The natural alone is permanent. Fantastic idols may be worshipped for a while; but at length they are overturned by the continual and silent progress of Truth, as the grim statues of Copan have been pushed from their pedestals by the growth of forest-trees, whose seeds were sown by the wind in the ruined walls. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Are the family lists complete yet?" he asked George.
"Aye, my lord. We've gathered the names of every possible successful runner for the last forty years. Not many men, I'll tell you that. Six at most, and all were thought to be very much dead. Four apparently lost to fire-you remember the blaze that leveled the tavern in '33-one to drowning, and one bloke to, ah, wolves."
Kit raised his brows. "Wolves?"
"That's what his son said. Stirling Jacobs was his name. Liked to hunt at dawn. Liked a challenge. Known to venture out beyond our boundaries. Bones were found, possibly his. That's all."
"How old would this man be now?"
"Let's see...nearing eighty, I'd say."
Kit gazed at him over the mess of china and papers.
"Your instructions were to consider everyone." George shifted in the chair, uneasy. "And I've bloody well considered everyone."

-Kit & George ~ Shana Abe

It is impossible to grasp another human's inner world. But even in the darkness of the densest forest, there can always be the light of a firefly. ~ Krupakar

The sun was up, the room already too warm. Light filtered in through the net curtains, hanging suspended in the air, sediment in a pond. My head felt like a sack of pulp. Still in my nightgown, damp from some fright I'd pushed aside like foliage, I pulled myself up and out of my tangled bed, then forced myself through the usual dawn rituals - the ceremonies we perform to make ourselves look sane and acceptable to other people. The hair must be smoothed down after whatever apparitions have made it stand on end during the night, the expression of staring disbelief washed from the eyes. The teeth brushed, such as they are. God knows what bones I'd been gnawing in my sleep. ~ Margaret Atwood

In America, with all of its evils and faults, you can still reach through the forest and see the sun. But we don't know yet whether that sun is rising or setting for our country. ~ Dick Gregory

I am like a tree in a forest. Birds come to the tree, they sit on its branches and eat its fruits. To the birds, the fruit may be sweet or sour or whatever. The birds say sweet or they say sour, but from the tree's point of view, this is just the chattering of birds. ~ Ajahn Chah

I stroke the bleached bones of ancient trees
felled long-ago by industry or cold desperation
and wonder of another almost summer when two fell asleep
beneath her arms, curling into each other
like wind-swept branches on the edge of tomorrow ... ~ Kate Mullane Robertson

Yes You Are!

Like the Blossoming rose,
Like the Rays of hope.

Like a deer in the forest,
Like an athlete full of zest.

Like a lamp in temple,
Like the life feeling ample.


Like the feel of the dawn,
Like the grace of the swan.

Like the melody of sitar,
Like the rage of guitar.

Like a group of angels in the sky,
Like the pot that makes you high.

Like the peacock's dance,
Like she is the romance.


Like the silent talk,
Like the wine from Medoc.

Like the colors of life,
Like the music from the fife.

Like the calmness of the cold wind
Like the beauty of the hind. ~ Ameya Agrawal

Few things in nature can compare to the long, mournful wail of a loon echoing across water and through the forest. It's an evocative sound that will stick with you for the rest of your life and make you nostalgic for things that never even happened to you. Eerie, yet beautiful, the sound will conjure up images of solitude near mountain lakes and ponds, shrouded in fog during the early morning or late dusk, surrounded by the silhouettes of pine trees. It's a sound that relaxes and submerges you into the tranquility of nature. I don't think there is another sound in the world that reminds me of the wilderness more so than the wail of a loon. ~ Kyle Rohrig

She led the way. Eyeless sockets of the dead seemed to stare at them as they passed.
"These are cool," Dan decided. "Maybe I could-"
"No, Dan," Amy said. "You can't collect human bones."
"Awww. ~ Rick Riordan

They drove past buses that dripped people the way a sponge drips water, and arrived at a thick forest of human beings, a crowd of people sprouting in all directions like leaves on jungle trees. ~ Salman Rushdie

Except for hydrogen, all the atoms that make each of us up - the iron in our blood, the calcium in our bones, the carbon in our brains - were manufactured in red giant stars thousands of light-years away in space and billions of years ago in time. We are, as I like to say, starstuff. ~ Carl Sagan

A memory, long buried, sprang up of her father warning her never to cross the stream and go into the forest.
"The Dragonwood," she mumbled.
How could she have forgotten the Dragonwood?
Her father had explained that it wasn't their land, and that dangerous animals lurked in the shadows. ~ Donna Grant

I at this writing am an old man, only three years short of my three score and ten. And they tell me that Wycliffe's bones have been dug up and burned and cast into the river that leads to the sea. The Church--she thinks--has had her revenge.
But, as I hear it, Wycliffe's writings had already touched one man in Bohemia, John Huss, whom the Church burned several years ago. And though both Wycliffe and Huss be dead, There are rumors of unrest in that small country, unrest caused by those who seek true religion.
In England, King Henry rules hand in glove with the Pope, but not forever, I think.
We are still here--the Lollards, I mean. Did you guess it? Yes, I have become a "poor priest." And I will tell you this: the writings of Wycliffe have been driven out of Oxford, but they can be found in every other nook in England. Indeed, many a time I have talked with an Oxford scholar on the road and have seen God open his heart to the truth.
This is what Saint Paul meant when he spoke of Christians as being pressed but never pinned. The Church rages, but the truth goes on. Many a stout English yeoman embraces it in these days and leads his family in true godly worship.
John Wycliffe was our morning star. When all was darkest and England lay asleep in the deadly arms of the papacy, God sent him to us. The Scripture has come to England. What will it hold back? Soon--though perhaps not in my lifetime-- the dawn will break, and there will be a new day in Engla ~ Andy Thomson

They will eat him alive. On his current course, Henry will fail spectacularly."

My chest constricts so tight it feels like my bones may crack.

Because she's right.

"He won't."

"You don't know that," she swipes back.

"I damn well do! I never would have abdicated otherwise."

"What?"

"Don't mistake me - I wouldn't have married anyone but Olivia, and I would've waited a lifetime if I had to, until the laws were changed. But I didn't because I knew in my heart and soul that Henry will not just be a good king, he will be better than I ever could've been."

For a moment I don't breathe. I can't. The shock of my brother's words has knocked the air right out of my lungs.

Granny's too, if her whisper is any indication.

"You truly believe that?"

"Absolutely. And, frankly, I'm disheartened that you don't."

"Henry has never been one to rise to the occasion," she states plainly.

"He's never needed to," my brother insists. "He's never been asked - not once in his whole life. Until now. And he will not only rise to the occasion . . . he will soar beyond it."

The Queen's voice is hushed, like she's in prayer.

"I want to believe that. More than I can say. Lend me a bit of your faith, Nicholas. Why are you so certain?"

Nicholas's voice is rough, tight with emotion.

"Because . . . he's just like Mum."

~ Emma Chase

Not to find one's way in a city may well be uninteresting and banal. It requires ignorance - nothing more," says the twentieth-century philosopher-essayist Walter Benjamin. "But to lose oneself in a city - as one loses oneself in a forest - that calls for quite a different schooling." To lose yourself: a voluptuous surrender, lost in your arms, lost to the world, utterly immersed in what is present so that its surroundings fade away. In Benjamin's terms, to be lost is to be fully present, and to be fully present is to be capable of being in uncertainty and mystery. And one does not get lost but loses oneself, with the implication that it is a conscious choice, a chosen surrender, a psychic state achievable through geography. ~ Rebecca Solnit

The praying which makes a prayerful ministry is not a little praying put in as we put flavor to give it a pleasant smack, but the praying must be in the body, and form the blood and bones. Prayer is no petty duty, put into a corner; no piecemeal performance made out of the fragments of time which have been snatched from business and other engagements of life; but it means that the best of our time, the heart of our time and strength must be given. ~ E. M. Bounds

The other gift - a book of poems, called, "The Cowardly Morning" - Waner put on Corinne's desk at the office, with a note saying, "This man is Coleridge and Blake and Rilke all in one, and more."
She didn't pick up the book again until she was in bed, late that night.
[...]
The first poem was the title poem. This time Corinne read it through aloud. But still she didn't hear it. She read it through a third time, and heard some of it. She read it through a fourth time, and heard all of it. It was the poem containing the lines:
'Not wasteland, but a great inverted forest
with all foliage underground.'
As though it might be best to look immediately for shelter, Corinne had to put the book down. At any moment the apartment building seemed liable to lose its balance and topple across Fifth Avenue into Central Park. She waited. Gradually the deluge of truth and beauty abated.
- The Inverted Forest (1947) ~ J.D. Salinger

We are faced with the fact, my friends, that tomorrow is today. Procrastination is still the thief of time. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residues of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words 'Too Late'. ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

My guess was that when you descended to a certain depth of depravity, the Fogs could smell you as a hound, catching a murderer's spoor, could track the criminal through forest, field, and moor. ~ Dean Koontz

With Pauline at my side, in one swift act that could never be undone, an act that ended a thousand dreams but gave birth to one, I bolted for the cover of the forest and never looked back. Lest we repeat history, the stories shall be passed from father to son, from mother to daughter, for with but one generation, history and truth are lost forever. - Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. III ~ Mary E. Pearson

What I did not know was how longing could store itself away in the hollows of one's bones and then one day without warning flood out. ~ J.M. Coetzee

I remember the old northern legend of how God created the taiga while he was still a child. There were few colors, but they were childishly fresh and vivid, and their subjects were simple. Later, when God grew up and became an adult, he learned to cut out complicated patters from his pages and created many bright birds. God grew bored with his former child's world and he threw snow on his forest creation and went south forever. ~ Varlam Shalamov

It is the peculiar nature of the forest, that life and death may ever be found within its bounds, in immediate presence of each other; both with ceaseless, noiseless advances, aiming at the mastery; and if the influences of the first be most general, those of the last are the most striking. ~ Susan Fenimore Cooper

We draw our strength from the great oaks of the forest. As they take their nourishment from the soil, and from the rains that feed the soil, so we find our courage in the pattern of living things around us. They stand through storm and tempest. They grow and renew themselves. Like a grove of young oaks, we remain strong. ~ Juliet Marillier

The Samurai lived by a code of honor, not unlike the code that you live by. It's called the Bushido. It was never written down; was always something the Samurai knew, and it was handed down from one warrior to another. One of the tenets of the code is about justice. Not the pounding of a gavel on the bench of some judge who's been appointed to pass judgment on people by some politician. No, malaka, this concept of justice is what you feel in your bones: to die when it is right and to strike when it is right. ~ Kenneth Eade

She was dreaming after a myth: a gentleman who dallied as a noble beast, rescuing damsels in some enchanted forest. With Luke, she would get a beast wearing the clothes of a man. An uncivilized creature who'd lost all enjoyment in balls and parlor games, who'd forgotten the words to all her trite little songs of green meadows and shepherds and love. Enjoy your fantasy world, Cecily. Let me visit you there, from time to time. "Now ~ Tessa Dare

The Spanish voyager, as his caravel ploughed the adjacent seas, might give full scope to his imagination, and dream that beyond the long, low margin of forest which bounded his horizon lay hid a rich harvest for some future conqueror; perhaps a second Mexico with its royal palace and sacred pyramids, or another Cuzco with its temple of the Sun, encircled with a frieze of gold. Haunted by such visions, the ocean chivalry of Spain could not long stand idle. ~ Francis Parkman

I became totally absorbed into this forest existence. It was an unparalleled period when aloneness was a way of life; a perfect opportunity, it might seem, for meditating on the meaning of existence and my role in it all. But I was far too busy learning about the chimpanzees'lives to worry about the meaning of my own. I had gone to Gombe to accomplish a specific goal, not to pursue my early preoccupation with philosophy and religion. Nevertheless, those months at Gombe helped to shape the person I am today-I would have been insensitive indeed if the wonder and the endless fascination of my new world had not had a major impact on my thinking. All the time I was getting closer to animals and nature, and as a result, closer to myself and more and more in tune with the spiritual power that I felt all around. For those who have experienced the joy of being alone with nature there is really little need for me to say much more; for those who have not, no words of mine can even describe the powerful, almost mystical knowledge of beauty and eternity that come, suddenly, and all unexpected. The beauty was always there, but moments of true awareness were rare. They would come, unannounced; perhaps when I was watching the pale flush preceding dawn; or looking up through the rustling leaves of some giant forest tree into the greens and browns and the black shadows and the occasionally ensured bright fleck of blue sky; or when I stood, as darkness fell, with one hand on the still warm trun ~ Jane Goodall