“She was only the faint violet whiff and dead leaf echo of the nymphet I had rolled myself upon with such cries in the past; an echo on the brink of a russet ravine, with a far wood under a white sky, and brown leaves choking the brook, and one last cricket in the crisp weeds.”
— Vladimir Nabokov —
“Every settlement with two shacks and a saloon gave itself a name: Helltown, Fair Play, Grizzly Flats, Piety Hill, Whiskey Flat, You Bet, Nary Red, Lousy Ravine, Petticoat Slide.”
— Donald Dale Jackson
“Well dammit. Trulie hooked her hand into the crook of his elbow and turned toward the bridge. The chilling height of the structure spanning the ravine could no longer be blamed for the tingling dizziness pinging across her senses. Fear of heights was nothing compared to this subtle emotional dance with a heart-stopping Highlander.”
— Maeve Greyson
“They were relaxing at the top of a waterfall, in a small, still pool where the mountain waters hit an upward slope of folded granite. It was sort of a rounded bathtub, carved out of the rock throughout the centuries by the rushing river, a river so hidden that it was without a name. Just below were the falls, about a 30-foot drop into another, much larger pool of clearest water that was gathered for a respite, a compromise in the river's relentless schedule downward, between split-level decks of flat rock. Further on, the river reanimated and released into a sharp ravine, pulling westward, down through the rugged mountains and faceless forest
the Black Hills National Forest
gaining force until it joined with the rush of the Castle River, near the old Custer Trail, and was swallowed into the Deerfield Reservoir to collect and prepare for the touch of man.”
— Ron Parsons
“Horkman and I are on one side of the ravine, holding our guns over our heads. The Cubans are on the other side, going nuts, shouting "YI-YI-YI" ready to go kick some ass. In a movie, the next scene, we're all charging into battle.
But what actually happened was, first, Horkman and I climb down our side of the ravine, which was hard because those guns are a lot heavier than they look, plus it is really steep. We both kept dropping the guns and falling down, so we ended up mostly sliding on our butts, which took awhile. The Cubans tried to keep cheering, but after a while they realized they'd better pace themselves. Like every twenty seconds or so, one of them would yell "YI-YI-YI!" But you could tell they were losing the mood.”
— Dave Barry
“Climb back up here. We're going to have to jump."
She stated it so calmly he almost didn't comprehend. His head snapped around. "Are you out of your fucking mind, Rose? You're pregnant. You can't jump out of a moving car."
"Well, it's that or go with it into the ravine. I prefer the sand. Move it, soldier. You've got about fifteen seconds."
She wasn't kidding. The woman was insane, already opening the driver's door and bailing before he could stop her. Kane kicked open the backseat passenger door and dove.”
— Christine Feehan
“Back when we were on the farm, I thought I loved you, but that was not love. When I saw your face behind the mask on the ravine floor, I thought I loved you, but that was again nothing more than deep infatuation. Beloved: I think I love you now, and I pray you only give me the chance to spend my life in constant proving.”
— William Goldman
“George paused just beyond the sawhorses at the edge of a deep ravine that had been cut through the tar surface of Witcham Street. This”
— Stephen King
“The fields that push up the corn, and the water that rushes down the ravine, the juice of the grape, and the life of a man as it flows past him, are all one and the same thing. The sole unity in life is the unity of rhythm. A rhythm to which we all dance; men, apples, ravines, ploughed fields, carts among the corn, houses, horses, and the sun. The stuff that is in you, Gauguin, will pound through a grape tomorrow, because you and the grape are one. When I paint a peasant labouring in the field, I want people to feel the peasant flowing down into the soil, just as the corn does, and the soil flowing up into the peasant. I want them to feel the sun pouring into the peasant, into the field, the corn, the plough, and the horses, just as they all pour back into the sun. When you begin to feel the universal rhythm in which everything on earth moves, you begin to understand life ... .”
— Irving Stone
“Me was the glittering desolation of the sea, the awful solitude upon which I had already suffered so much; behind me the island, hushed under the dawn, its Beast People silent and unseen. The enclosure, with all its provisions and ammunition, burnt noisily, with sudden gusts of flame, a fitful crackling, and now and then a crash. The heavy smoke drove up the beach away from me, rolling low over the distant tree-tops towards the huts in the ravine. Beside me were the charred vestiges of the boats and these four dead bodies.”
— H.G. Wells
“All I wanted to do was get back to Africa. We had not left it, yet, but when I would wake in the night I would lie, listening, homesick for it already. Now, looking out the tunnel of trees over the ravine at the sky with white clouds moving across in the wind, I loved the country so that I was happy as you are after you have been with a woman that you really love, when, empty, you feel it welling up again and there it is and you can never have it all and yet what there is, now, you can have, and you want more and more, to have, and be, and live in, to possess now again for always, for that long sudden-ended always; making time stand still, sometimes so very still that afterwards you wait to hear it move, and it is slow in starting. But you are not alone because if you have every really loved her happy and untragic, she loves you always; no matter whom she loves nor where she goes she loves you more.”
— Ernest Hemingway
“It would have been only fair to tell him so. To explain, right now, that she was the bloody Titanic whose wake would carry him under, if he didn't jump into the lifeboat and head for the open sea.
Instead, he leaned over to kiss her.
She waited. Hesitated. Then withdrew her head before their lips could touch. For a split second he looked offended, but then he smiled, blinked at the sun, and said, "Well, when it gets to that point, I want to be there."
"When what gets to what point?"
"When you're not looking at everyone else as if they'd just declared war on you. And when you realize"-he pointed across the ravine-"that things may look like the end of the world but the world still goes on, over there on the other side. Maybe just one really large step would cross it.”
— Kai Meyer
“She decided not to look him in the eyes ever again. It was too much like being shoved over the edge of a ravine.”
— Dia Reeves
“Are God and Nature then at strife,
That Nature lends such evil dreams?
So careful of the type she seems,
So careless of the single life; ...
'So careful of the type', but no.
From scarped cliff and quarried stone
She cries, 'A thousand types are gone:
I care for nothing, all shall go' ...
Man, her last work, who seemed so fair,
Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies,
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,
Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law-
Tho' Nature red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shrieked against his creed ...”
— Alfred Lord Tennyson
“Torrent of light and river of air,
Along whose bed the glimmering stars are seen,
Like gold and silver sands in some ravine
Where mountain streams have left their channels bare!”
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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