We love and lose in China, we weep on England's moors, and laugh and moan in Guinea, and thrive on Spanish shores.… — Maya Angelou Copy Share Image
On the Iberian Peninsula in the Spanish-Portuguese area, southern France that high state of a culture existed there because of Africans known… — Malcolm X Copy Share Image
The long, long road over the moors and up into the forest - who trod it into being first of all? Man,… — Knut Hamsun Copy Share Image
I was doing a terrible thing in using the very books you clung to, to rebut you on every hand, on every… — Ray Bradbury Copy Share Image
“The Moors were beautiful in their own way, and if their beauty was the quiet sort that required time and introspection to… — Seanan McGuire Copy Share Image
Heathcliff. The "hero" of Wuthering Heights. Although no one knows why. He's mean, moody, and possibly a bit on the pongy side.… — Louise Rennison Copy Share Image
“Wild Nights—Wild Nights! Were I with thee Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile—the winds— To a heart in port— Done with… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying, Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now, Where… — Robert Louis Stevenson Copy Share Image
“I know more about Emily Bronte than anyone I know. I know enough about her family to have been a part. I’ve… — Chila Woychik Copy Share Image
Perhaps I am too tame, too domestic a magician. But how does one work up a little madness? I meet with mad… — Susanna Clarke Copy Share Image
Were I the Moor I would not be Iago. In following him I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I… — Anonymous Copy Share Image
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain. I love you still among these cold things. Sometimes my kisses… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
I stepped closer still. He closed his eyes again and covered my hand with his own. 'You smell of violets. You always… — Deanna Raybourn Copy Share Image
Fare well we call to hearth and hall Though wind may blow and rain may fall We must away ere break of… — Anonymous Copy Share Image
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids… — John Keats Copy Share Image
The coast's a jungle of Moors, Turks, Jews, renegades from all over Europe, sitting in palaces built from the sale of Christian… — Dorothy Dunnett Copy Share Image
My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her; out of… — Charlotte Bronte Copy Share Image
My parents took me to the Bronte parsonage in England when I was a teenager. I had a fight with my mum,… — Eleanor Catton Copy Share Image
The mountains and moors, the wild uplands, are to be staked out like vampires in the sun, their chests pierced with rows… — Paul Kingsnorth Copy Share Image
Daughter of heaven and earth, coy Spring, With sudden passion languishing, Teaching barren moors to smile, Painting pictures mile on mile, Holds… — Ralph Waldo Emerson Copy Share Image
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The… — Alfred Noyes Copy Share Image
Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon… — William Wordsworth Copy Share Image
I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must… — Emily Dickinson Copy Share Image
Out on the moors, The lonely moors, I roll around in sheep poo. Heathcliff, it's youuuuu, I hate you, I love you… — Louise Rennison Copy Share Image
To that Providence, my sons, I hereby commend you, and I counsel you by way of caution to forbear from crossing the… — Arthur Conan Doyle Copy Share Image
She wished she could talk as he did. His speech was so quick and easy. It sounded as if he liked her… — Frances Hodgson Burnett Copy Share Image
The steady character of our countrymen is a rock to which we may safely moor; and notwithstanding the efforts of the papers… — Thomas Jefferson Copy Share Image
Sitting in the flickering light of the candles on this kerchief of sand, on this village square, we waited in the night.… — Antoine de Saint-Exupery Copy Share Image
Now that I think about it, maybe he is a werewolf. I can picture him lunging over the moors in hot pursuit… — Mary Ann Shaffer Copy Share Image
For a while he'd tried molding himself into the tragic Romantic hero, brooding and staring clench-jawed off into space as he composed… — Christopher Moore Copy Share Image
