I Was A Yurt Quotes

Every time I find an issue I strongly believe I need to take a stand on, I always seem to end up at the crossroads of wanting to fight or retreat to a remote part of Alaska and live off the grid in a yurt.

I had sat at table with an old, semiliterate man in a dirty jacket and canvas boots and felt in my heart an excitement I had seldom known. By then Armenia and Russia no longer seemed to matter. I was no longer thinking about the nature of greatness or the characteristics of a particular nation. There was only the human soul, the soul that did not lose faith as it suffered anguish and torment among the scree and vineyards of Palestine, the soul that remains equally human and good in a little village near Penza, under the sky of India, and in a northern yurt—because there is good in people everywhere, simply because they are human beings.

To many people I have no doubt that it appears merely silly. I once found it expressed in a rather amusing way in a Russian Book called Dal Zoviet, which means the lure of far horizons. The author is Galinischev Kutuzoff [Golenischev-Kutuzov], and he tells of a man in Northern Mongolia who goes out of his yurt every morning to breathe the free air of the steppes and enjoy the immensity and the solitude. But one day he feels an uncomfortable sense of oppression, almost as if he could not breathe. He looks about to find the reason. And there, across the undulating grasslands, is a line of telegraph poles. And after the place never the same to him again.

But I don’t love being asked to be an investor in a crowd-funded honeymoon. Here is why: it’s not especially emotionally rewarding to know that I paid for three of five nights of a yurt rental in Big Sur.

Right, I’ll bet he’s another vegetarian. Another Unitarian vegetarian who holds up peace signs at street corners every Saturday afternoon and aspires to live in a Mongolian yurt.

That’s probably a reference I should understand, but I’ve been living in a yurt for the last six months,” Dani said. “Well, that’s considerably cooler than my nerdy Greek mythology reference.

The “city” of Kangbashi, for instance, sits on the edge of the Inner Mongolian desert. It was built from scratch in 2004. Architecturally speaking, it’s impressive, or at least ambitious. It features a meticulously landscaped central plaza more than a mile in length, along which sits a library shaped like a trio of enormous shelved books, a museum shaped like a cross between a peanut and a bronze beanbag, and an art gallery vaguely modeled on a pair of yurts. Wide avenues lead to shopping malls, hotels, and high-rise housing developments. The city was built to house more than a million residents. But when I was there in spring of 2016, it held barely one-tenth that number.

I wanted to rip the power-sharer right off his wrist and go and chuck it at Chloe’s head and tell her that Orion was right not to care about a single one of them, and we were going it alone, I was taking him to live in a yurt in Wales when we got out of here, and every last wizard in New York could set themselves on fire and cry about it.

I wanted to rip the power-sharer right off his wrist and go and chuck it at Chloe’s head and tell her that Orion was right not to care about a single one of them, and we were going it alone, I was taking him to live in a yurt in Wales