Morel Mushroom Hunting Not Trespassing Quotes

#1. There is a tree. At the downhill edge of a long, narrow field in the western foothills of the La Sal Mountains -- southeastern Utah. A particular tree. A juniper. Large for its species -- maybe twenty feet tall and two feet in diameter. For perhaps three hundred years this tree has stood its ground. Flourishing in good seasons, and holding on in bad times. "Beautiful" is not a word that comes to mind when one first sees it. No naturalist would photograph it as exemplary of its kind. Twisted by wind, split and charred by lightning, scarred by brushfires, chewed on by insects, and pecked by birds. Human beings have stripped long strings of bark from its trunk, stapled barbed wire to it in using it as a corner post for a fence line, and nailed signs on it on three sides: NO HUNTING; NO TRESPASSING; PLEASE CLOSE THE GATE. In commandeering this tree as a corner stake for claims of rights and property, miners and ranchers have hacked signs and symbols in its bark, and left Day-Glo orange survey tape tied to its branches. Now it serves as one side of a gate between an alfalfa field and open range. No matter what, in drought, flood heat and cold, it has continued. There is rot and death in it near the ground. But at the greening tips of its upper branches and in its berrylike seed cones, there is yet the outreach of life.

I respect this old juniper tree. For its age, yes. And for its steadfastness in taking whatever is thrown at it. That it has been useful in a practical #Quote by Robert Fulghum

#2. I'm an outdoor nut. If I'm not working, I'm on a tractor on my farm, hunting, fishing or climbing a mountain. #Quote by Jeff Foxworthy

#3. I'd spend hours hunting for something - anything - that would render me moderately fuckable. And if not fuckable, something in which I could grieve over the fact of not being fuckable with unbaubled dignity. I #Quote by Mona Awad

#4. Whether hunting is right or wrong, a spiritual experience, or an outlet for the killer instinct, one thing it is not is a sport. Sport is when individuals or teams compete against each other under equal circumstances to determine who is better at a given game or endeavor. Hunting will be a sport when deer, elk, bears, and ducks are ... given 12-gauge shotguns. Bet we'd see a lot fewer drunk yahoos (live ones, anyway) in the woods if that happened. #Quote by Richard Lerner

#5. Ironic, is it not, that the great Divinicus Nex cowers in fear from that which should be her fated prey? A decidedly diametric circumstance.
What? It's irritating when the monster hunting you has a better vocabulary than your own. Maybe it could do my eulogy? #Quote by A&E Kirk

#6. I say we try it,' says Peeta. 'Katniss is right.'
Finnick looks at Johanna and raises his eyebrows. He will not go forward without her. 'All right,' she says finally. 'It's better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I doubt they'll figure out our plan, since we can barely understand it ourselves. #Quote by Suzanne Collins

#7. When psychological education is less rudimentary that it is at present, people belonging to different types will recognize each other's right to exist. Every man will stick to the problems, inward or outward, with which nature has fitted him to deal; and he will restrained, if not by tolerance, at least by the salutary fear of making a fool of himself, from trespassing on the territory of minds belonging to another type. #Quote by Aldous Huxley

#8. We do not inhabit a perfected world where natural selection ruthlessly scrutinizes all organic structures and then molds them for optimal utility. Organisms inherit a body form and a style of embryonic development; these impose constraints upon future change and adaptation. In many cases, evolutionary pathways reflect inherited patterns more than current environmental demands. These inheritances constrain, but they also provide opportunity. A potentially minor genetic change […] entails a host of complex, nonadaptive consequences. The primary flexibility of evolution may arise from nonadaptive by-products that occasionally permit organisms to strike out in new and unpredictable directions. What "play" would evolution have if each structure were built for a restricted purpose and could be used for nothing else? How could humans learn to write if our brain had not evolved for hunting, social cohesion, or whatever, and could not transcend the adaptive boundaries of its original purpose? #Quote by Stephen Jay Gould

#9. I once visited an RSPCA hospital in Norfolk. I spoke to the vets working there, and asked them how many times they had had to treat a fox that had been brought in with a shooting injury. The answer from a vet who had worked there for many years was, Not once. When I asked him why, he said,You can take it from me that when the fox is shot in the countryside by somebody trained, it is dead. #Quote by Ian Cawsey

#10. I want in," the boy said.
"In on what?"
"You're the Hunter. You're hunting the slavers. I want in."
"And how would you know that?" If someone had opened their mouth, he would be really put out.
Jack gave a one-shouldered shrug.
"We overhead you and Declan talking."
"Declan's study is soundproof."
"Not to reanimated mice," Jack said. #Quote by Ilona Andrews

#11. We're all broken, Sarah. It's not always about fixing the parts that don't work; it's about making the most of the ones that do. #Quote by Helena Hunting

#12. Curing environmental ills requires not a stance outside nature, but a stance within nature, a role not as onlooker without, but as an actor within. #Quote by Valerius Geist

#13. Traveling is sacred; mankind has traveled ever since the dawn of time, in search of hunting and grazing ground, or milder climates. Very few men manage to understand the world without leaving their home towns. When you travel - and I am not speaking of tourism, but of the solitary experience of a journey - four important things occur in your life: #Quote by Paulo Coelho

#14. I want her, bro. Not only for me, but because I think she has the best chance against these terrorists we're hunting." Tony placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "She's a vampire, Deryn. And not just any vampire. Weldon Harper calls her Pack and she's a member of the Sacramento Pack, too. Now do you know who I'm talking about?"

Deryn's eyes widened as he stared at his brother. Now he knew why they were out in the middle of the English countryside in the dark. They wouldn't find a vampire awake during the daytime and it would be dangerous to move one anyway, during that time. No wonder he'd seen a body bag in the trunk of the rental Tony was driving.

"Bro, you can't be serious; we can't kidnap a vampire - they'd shred us. And if it's the one dad was telling mom and me about, she'd really shred us." Deryn figured he would have to convince Tony to forget this mission.

"All we need to do is find where she is, just before dawn. Then, when she falls asleep, we'll just take her with us. I don't think she'll hurt us, she's not that way," Tony said, climbing inside the car. #Quote by Connie Suttle

#15. Of all the passers-through, the species that means most to me, even more than geese and cranes, is the upland plover, the drab plump grassland bird that used to remind my gentle hunting uncle of the way things once had been, as it still reminds me. It flies from the far Northern prairies to the pampas of Argentina and then back again in spring, a miracle of navigation and a tremendous journey for six or eight ounces of flesh and feathers and entrails and hollow bones, fueled with bug meat. I see them sometimes in our pastures, standing still or dashing after prey in the grass, but mainly I know their presence through the mournful yet eager quavering whistles they cast down from the night sky in passing, and it makes me think of what the whistling must have been like when the American plains were virgin and their plover came through in millions. To grow up among tradition-minded people leads one often into backward yearnings and regrets, unprofitable feelings of which I was granted my share in youth-not having been born in time to get killed fighting Yankees, for one, or not having ridden up the cattle trails. But the only such regret that has strongly endured is not to have known the land when when it was whole and sprawling and rich and fresh, and the plover that whet one's edge every spring and every fall. In recent decades it has become customary- and right, I guess, and easy enough with hindsight- to damn the ancestral frame of mind that ravaged the world so fully and so #Quote by John Graves

#16. The happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance is not the works of Shakespeare (as Buck Mulligan says) but the Holy Bible. #Quote by Paul Theroux

#17. The captains of industry are not hunting money. America is heavy with it. They are seeking brains - specialized brains - and faithful, loyal service. Brains are needed to carry out the plans of those who furnish the capital. #Quote by Charles M. Schwab

#18. I don't get into the gun stuff. Some guys have guns who go hunting. Where do we stop (the gun control) at? I'm not a hunter, but we can't say people can't have guns. #Quote by Charles Barkley

#19. Rest assured that our work is not over because our work has never been only hunting Nazi war criminals. The Simon Wiesenthal Center is an institution, a worldwide institution, engaged in combating anti-Semitism, bigotry, racism. And unfortunately, did we say goodbye to genocide after Hitler died in the bunker? No, we didn't. So in such a world, I'm afraid there will always be a need for organizations like the Simon Wiesenthal Center. #Quote by Marvin Hier

#20. Esca tossed the slender papyrus roll onto the cot, and set his own hands over Marcus's. "I have not served the Centurion because I was his slave," he said, dropping unconsciously into the speech of his own people. "I have served Marcus, and it was not slave-service ... my stomach will be glad when we start on this hunting trail. #Quote by Rosemary Sutcliff

#21. When pressed, hunters who claim that they just want "to be out in the wilderness," will admit that the kill is essential - or at least the hope of a kill. As it turns out, there is no correlation between hunting and hiking, climbing, backpacking, kayaking, or any other outdoor activity. Hunters do not purposefully linger in the woods after a kill, but quickly begin the process of preparing to head home with the corpse. For hunters, the kill is the climax - the most important moment. They are not driving into the woods (or sometimes actually walking) for the sake of beauty, but in the hope of a kill. #Quote by Lisa Kemmerer

#22. Hunting butterflies requires an oblique approach. If one charges them directly, they flit away, mapping a mazy, elusive path until they disappear from sight with a final flap of jeweled, defiant wings. But if one is cunning and careful, it is possible to approach them so subtly they do not realize you are upon them until the net descends. The trick is move with them, parallel but not intersecting, guiding them gently to a suitable landing spot where they can be captured without injury. The timing is all. Hurry them and they will bolt. Dawdle and they will dart away after some tasty sip of nectar. It requires patience, skill, and resolve - qualities I had in abundance and which Stoker would give me ample opportunity to exercise. #Quote by Deanna Raybourn

#23. I didn't know you'd grown to love hunting so much," Silas notes, sounding genuinely surprised.
I backpedal. "I . . . I mean, it's not about liking hunting. It's about the fact that I spend hours training every day for solo hunts she won't let me do. If I have to live the life of a hunter, I'd like to actually, you know, hunt."
"Ah," Silas says, though I'm pretty sure I didn't make any sense. "Well, not that I'm in favor of her stealing hunts from you, but I'll confess it's hard to think about Rosie March on her own, killing wolves, and not get overprotective." He paused, and he seems to be choosing his words carefully. "Even if you aren't exactly 'little Rosie March' anymore."
My eyes find his, trying to analyze the meaning of his words, of the change in his tone. But just as I finally take a breath and will myself to speak, the pipes from the upstairs shower rattle above us. I turn back to the oven, out of my trance. I'm overanalyzing things, as usual.
"What are you making, then?" Silas asks, voice back to normal.
"Um . . . meatloaf." The sexiest of foods. #Quote by Jackson Pearce

#24. At present, in this vicinity, the best part of the land is not private property; the landscape is not owned, and the walker enjoys comparative freedom. But possibly the day will come when it will be partitioned off into so-called pleasure-grounds, in which a few will take a narrow and exclusive pleasure only, - when fences shall be multiplied, and man-traps and other engines invented to confine men to the public road, and walking over the surface of God's earth shall be construed to mean trespassing on some gentleman's grounds. To enjoy a thing exclusively is commonly to exclude yourself from the true enjoyment of it. Let us improve our opportunities, then, before the evil days come. #Quote by Henry David Thoreau

#25. So he was always in the town at one place or another, drinking, knocking about with the men he knew. It really wearied him. He talked to barmaids, to almost any woman, but there was that dark, strained look in his eyes, as if he were hunting something.
Everything seemed so different, so unreal. There seemed no reason why people should go along the street, and houses pile up in the daylight. There seemed no reason why these things should occupy the space, instead of leaving it empty. His friends talked to him: he heard the sounds, and he answered. But why there should be the noise of speech he could not understand. #Quote by D.H. Lawrence

#26. When a book of mine comes out, I instantly go hunting the net, not for praise, but for criticism, because that's how you learn, from people who don't have to be polite to you. #Quote by J. Michael Straczynski

#27. Any kind of modification, whether it's to alter physical features, like cosmetic surgery, or to decorate, like piercings and tattoos, cause some degree of discomfort. But that's the point, isn't it? It's cathartic because it's the promise of change in some form or another. My tattoos give the memory related to the art a place to exist outside of my head, on my body. At least that's my interpretation, but not everyone feels the same way I do. #Quote by Helena Hunting

#28. If he had any sense of honor at all, the man would have stayed dead."
"Unfortunately, it appears he was merely unconscious," Daniel murmured. He was becoming quite certain George was dead. This might greaty simplify matters, or at least it would if Richard was willing to uphold the marriage to Christiana...and really, Daniel was beginning to think that would be the most honorable thing to do here. While he didn't think much of their looking to marry a man with money to solve their problems, it did seem a shame to cast the scandal of George's actions on these three women when none of it was their fault at all.
Unconscious," Suzette spat the word with disdain. "He must have been, and he had obviously been drinking." She tsked with exasperation and stomped her foot, muttering, "Why could the beast not have been dead? I should have smothered him in his bed to be sure he was and stayed that way."
Daniel stared at her with amazement. His first thought was that, really, aside froom her fortune hunting and homicidal tendencies, the woman was quite fascinating in her complete and utter lack of artifice. His next thought was that the ton would eat her alive. Artifice and subterfuge were necessary tools to survive society and she was obviously completely lacking in both.
Suzette suddenly heaved a put upon breath and muttered, "I suppose I had best be sure I find a husband tonight. Otherwise, surely Dicky will find some way to throw a spanner in my plans."
Daniel #Quote by Lynsay Sands

#29. He had stood there looking around him, hunting someone, and had not found whoever it was and turned to go; but in turning, he caught sight of Emily and paused and looked at her again, and then frowned and went on out. She had not actually been introduced to him for another week. But now it seemed to her that at his entrance
swinging through the library door, carrying a single book in his hand (his fingers fine-textured and brown, his shirtcuffs so perfectly white)
her life had suddenly bee set in motion. Everything had started up, as if complicated wheels and gears had finally connected, and had raced along in a blur from then on. It was only now, in this slowed-down room, that she had a chance to examine what had happened #Quote by Anne Tyler

#30. There is the inner life, which is the world of final reality, the world of memory, emotion, imagination, intelligence, and natural common sense, and which goes on all the time like the heartbeat. There is also the thinking process by which we break into that inner life and capture answers and evidence to support the answers out of it. That process of raid, or persuasion, or ambush, or dogged hunting, or surrender, is the kind of thinking we have to learn and if we do not somehow learn it, then our minds lie in us like the fish in the pond of a man who cannot fish. #Quote by Ted Hughes