"Rambling" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... fatal evening the young man took to rambling among the picturesque regions of the Sarthe, the banks of which are much frequented by sketchers who come to Alencon for points of view. Windmills are there, and the river is gay in the meadows. The shores of the Sarthe are bordered with beautiful trees, well grouped. Though the landscape ...
— The Jealousies of a Country Town • Honore de Balzac
... is adequate to meet the situation; for the resolution of the unadjusted is complete so soon as the stimulus is drained off, re-distributed and dynamically absorbed, as in the case of mechanical "lost motion." A useful and intelligent solution is by no means requisite: mere rambling often suffices. ...
— The Journal of Abnormal Psychology - Volume 10
... Rolling Grass. See also quotation, 1877. This chief species (S. hirsutus) is present on the shores of nearly all Australasia, and has various synonyms—S. sericeus, Raoul.; S. inermis, Banks and Sol.; Ixalum inerme, Forst.; S. fragilis, R.B., etc. It is a "coarse, rambling, much-branched, rigid, spinous, silky or woolly, perennial grass, with habitats near the sea on sandhills, or ...
— A Dictionary of Austral English • Edward Morris
... collection of hovels. The country about Craig Fernie, mountain on one side and moor on the other, held no second house of public entertainment, for miles and miles round, at any point of the compass. No rambling individual but the helpless British Tourist wanted food and shelter from strangers in that part of Scotland; and nobody but Mistress Inchbare had food and shelter to sell. A more thoroughly independent person than this was not to be found on the face of the hotel-keeping earth. ...
— Man and Wife • Wilkie Collins
... the spring. On either side go up the dark processional pines, mounting to the sacred peaks, devout, kneeling, motionless, in an ecstasy of homely adoration, like the donors and their families in a Flemish picture. Among these you may wander for hours by little rambling paths, over white and red and golden flowers, and, continually, you spy little lakes, hidden away, each a shy, soft jewel of a new strange tint of green or blue, mutable and lovely.... And beyond all is the glacier and the vast fields ...
— Letters from America • Rupert Brooke
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