A Quote by Robert Louis Stevenson

One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal Green - one more, and my bosom Feels new life with an ecstasy. — © Robert Louis Stevenson
One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal Green - one more, and my bosom Feels new life with an ecstasy.
O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul that, struggling to be free, art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of steel, be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
I would suggest that a Green Real Deal is something to be far more excited about than the Green New Deal because the Green New Deal will never happen.
I want to shoot an elk with a bow. Mind you, I've never hunted in my life. But I feel like if I'm ever going to hunt, it's going to be with a bow. I just feel like a bow requires more skill.
To bow to the fact of our life's sorrows and betrayals is to accept them; and from this deep gesture we discover that all life is workable. As we learn to bow, we discover that the heart holds more freedom and compassion than we could imagine.
O the green things growing, the green things growing, The faint sweet smell of the green things growing! I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.
Every life is a tragedy, but far more the writer's life, because the more he has to see, the more deeply he understands and feels about life, the less time he has to put it down.
There is such a thing as everyday, ordinary, vulgar ecstasy; the ecstasy of anger, the ecstasy of speed at the wheel, the ecstasy of ear-splitting noise, ecstasy in the soccer stadium.
A Song of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets; A song of farms - a song of the soil of fields. A song with the smell of sun-dried hay, where the nimble pitchers handle the pitch-fork; A song tasting of new wheat, and of fresh-husk'd maize.
Well, John Doherty's playing was very unique. He bowed a lot and used staccato, while I slur a bit. I bow a lot as well, but I do a bit of playing a few notes with the one bow. As you go south there's more slurring with the bow. As you go north there's more bowing every note. But sometimes you get the combination of the two in Donegal.
I felt New York was a big, more stylish, more metropolitan Golders Green. I was thrilled.
Speed is the form of ecstasy the technical revolution has bestowed on man. As opposed to a motorcyclist, the runner is always present in his body, forever required to think about his blisters, his exhaustion; when he runs he feels his weight, his age, more conscious than ever of himself and of his time of life. This all changes when man delegates the faculty of speed to a machine: from then on, his own body is outside the process, and he gives over to a speed that is noncorporeal, nonmaterial, pure speed, speed itself, ecstasy speed.
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I like America anyway. In Japan we are much more formal. If two friends are separated for a long time and they meet they bow and bow and bow. They keep bowing without exchanging a word. Here they slap each other on the back and say: Hello, old man, how goes everything.
For 'tis green, green, green, where the ruined towers are gray, And it's green, green, green, all the happy night and day; Green of leaf and green of sod, green of ivy on the wall, And the blessed Irish shamrock with the fairest green of all.
With all this talk of Going Green, Buying Green, Living Green, and Green being the new whatever, I've come to realize that, although we had no green, my grandmother was actually the 'greenest' person I've ever known.
Do the small things of life with a relaxed awareness. When you are eating, eat totally - chew totally, taste totally, smell totally. Touch your bread, feel the texture. Smell the bread, smell the flavor. Chew it, let it dissolve into your being.
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