The Montana sunset lay between the mountains like a giant bruise from which darkened arteries spread across a poisoned sky.
Interpretation
The quote compares a Montana sunset to a bruise, suggesting beauty combined with a sense of danger or poison in the sky.
In this quote, F. Scott Fitzgerald uses vivid imagery to describe a Montana sunset, likening it to a giant bruise that signifies beauty marred by harm or toxicity. The metaphor suggests that while sunsets can be breathtaking, there is an underlying darkness or foreboding represented by the 'darkened arteries' and 'poisoned sky', prompting reflection on the relationship between nature's beauty and its potential for negativity.
In practice
In a nature documentary, when discussing the complexities of environmental beauty and degradation.
Don't be so anxious about it,' she laughed. 'I'm not used to being loved. I wouldn't know what to do; I never got the trick of it.' She looked down at him, shy and fatigued. 'So here we are. I told you years ago that I had the makings of Cinderella.' He took her hand; she drew it back instinctively and then replaced it in his. 'Beg your pardon. Not even used to being touched. But I'm not afraid of you, if you stay quiet and don't move suddenly.
The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.
It was about then [1920] that I wrote a line which certain people will not let me forget: "She was a faded but still lovely woman of twenty-seven."
The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby.
But you can love more than just one person, can't you?
A sudden gust of rain blew over them and then another - as if small liquid clouds were bouncing along the land. Lightning entered the sea far off and the air blew full of crackling thunder. The table cloths blew around the pillars. They blew and blew and blew. The flags twisted around the red chairs like live things, the banners were ragged, the corners of the table tore off through the burbling billowing ends of the cloths.
Who wouldn't be a mountaineer! Up here all the world's prizes seem nothing
I love being immersed in nature, going to places in the world that are pristine and untouched by man. It's almost a religious experience when you go to a place like the Amazon, and there's no civilisation for thousands of miles.
The voice of the natural world would be, "Could you please give us space and leave us alone to get along with our own lives and our own ways, because we actually know much better how to do it then when you start interfering."
It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace he knows not what.
The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying.
I have lived long enough to witness the vanishing of wild mammals, butterflies, mayflies, songbirds and fish that I once feared my grandchildren would not experience: it has all happened faster than even the pessimists predicted.
Subscribe for the occasional hand-picked quote. No noise.