Norway Forest Quotes

A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and flagrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway.

I only had two real tasks [while in Norway]: gathering dead trees to burn from the surrounding small forest and getting water from a hole in a frozen stream. The rest of the time I wandered around, obsessed over my life dramas, stared into space, read books, wrote letters, made up songs, went crazy and eventually snapped out of my misery and noticed the dawn

Hethin was at home with his father, King Hjorvarth, in Norway. Hethin was coming home alone from the forest one Yule-eve, and found a troll-woman ; she

Our home villages with the hills, mountains and forests, the lakes and ponds, rivers and streams, waterfall and fjords. The smell of new hay in summer, of birches in spring, of the sea, and the big forest, and even the biting winter cold. Everything . . . Norwegian songs and music and so much, much more. That’s our Fatherland and that’s what we have to struggle to get back.

I’m not turning my back on Norway. But I’m not a Northman, I’m an Earthman. I live on a planet. And the planet is sailing through space. What is Oslo? A speck. A moaning dust mote. And the forests here in the north are so cold, so cold.

At the 2009 climate negotiations in Copenhagen, the United States, Britain, Norway, and other developed countries committed $4.5 billion to launch a global initiative that would begin to assess the value of the world’s tropical rain forests. Four years later, in 2013, at the Warsaw Climate Change Conference, further rules set criteria for tropical countries to meet in order to receive payments in return for reducing deforestation or launching sustainable forest management strategies. Now global efforts focus on what the forests are worth, and who will pay to keep them standing.

The Taiga and North American boreal forest have similar fauna and trees because they were recently one circumpolar super-megaforest interrupted only by the North Atlantic. Before melting ice filled the Bering Sea, about 11,000 years ago, you could walk from Norway to Newfoundland. Moose and people walked to the Americas, while horses and bison went from Alaska to Russia. Mammoths are buried in permafrost on both sides of the strait.

And anyone can enjoy nature. Thanks to “Right of Every Man”, a law that guarantees people to access any part of Norway that isn’t farmed or within meters from a residential house. You can even put your tent in fields and forests, pick berries or mushrooms on mountains and islands or paddle on fjords and rivers, all year around, all for free. Norway will take your breath away. If for no other reason than being

Spesso annoverato fra i viaggi in treno più belli al mondo, il tragitto ferroviario Oslo–Bergen offre l’opportunità di ammirare alcuni dei paesaggi più straordinari del paese. Dopo aver attraversato le foreste della Norvegia meridionale, si sale fino allo sconfinato altopiano Hardangervidda, per poi scendere attraverso i pittoreschi dintorni di Voss fino a Bergen. Lungo il percorso il treno passa vicinissimo ai fiordi e si connette (all’altezza di Myrdal) con la diramazione ferroviaria che sale diretta su terreni ripidi verso la regione dei fiordi che si apre intorno a Flåm.

Moreover, when Ingunn Fjørtoft, a professor at Telemark University in Porsgrunn, Norway, compared five- to seven-year-olds at three different kindergartens in Norway, she found that those who played in the forest daily had significantly better balance and coordination than children who only played on a traditional playground. Once again, the reason is believed to be that children are faced with more complex physical challenges in nature, and that this boosts their motor skills and overall fitness.

She was either outside the forest or deep inside it, swallowed up by the forest and a part of it, the sounds of birds and insects and running water and the smell of moss and rotting trees and new shoots and mushrooms and of animals that have only just disappeared.

The word hytte can too-simply be translated as "hut," but it holds a more vaulted status in Norway than the English word implies. A quarter of the population own such hytte. They are usually buried in the forest or up above the treeline, and offer Norwegians a place of escape from their lives down in the valleys. Sometimes the huts are located so close to the main residence that it doesn't seem to make sense that someone would abandon the comforts of home for a woodstove-heated, out-housed cabin. But that is exactly the point. This change of gears toward a simpler life, where tasks like boiling water on the woodstove or chopping wood with an ax, that might take only minutes with the help of more advanced technology, may fill the day in your wilderness retreat. These places are sacred to their owners, because they make a balance of the old world and the new.

When traveling south into Roman Europe on vacation, Sigrid feels antiquity. But as she journeys north into Norway’s forests, what she feels is ancientness.

Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman - almost a bride - was a cold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her prospects were desolate. A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and fragrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway. My hopes were all dead—struck with a subtle doom, such as, in one night, fell on all the first-born in the land of Egypt. I looked on my cherished wishes, yesterday so blooming and glowing; they lay stark, chill, livid corpses that could never revive.

Young as the Morning, Old as the Sea" "I wanna lay by a lake in Norway, I I wanna walk through Swedish fields of green I wanna see the forests of Finland, I I wanna sail on a boat on the Baltic sea I wanna feel the Russian winter, I I wanna go to my Polish grandmother's home I wanna see Hungarian lanterns, I I wanna walk on a road that leads to Rome I wanna be free as the winds that blow past me Clear as the air that I breath Young as the morning And old as the sea I wanna lose myself in the Scottish highlands The west coast of Ireland The Cornish breeze I wanna rest my bones in the Spanish sunshine The Italian coastline is calling me To be free as the birds that fly past me Light as the fish in the sea To be wise as the mountains And tall as the trees I wanna be sunny and bright as a sunrise Happy and full as the moon I'm fleeting like fireworks fading too soon

Young as the Morning, Old as the Sea" "I wanna lay by a lake in Norway, I I wanna walk through Swedish fields of green I wanna see the forests of Finland, I I wanna sail on a boat on the Baltic sea I wanna feel the Russian winter, I I wanna go to my Polish grandmother's home I wanna see Hungarian lanterns, I I wanna walk on a road that leads to Rome I wanna be free as the winds that blow past me Clear as the air that I breath Young as the morning And old as the sea I wanna lose myself in the Scottish highlands The west coast of Ireland The Cornish breeze I wanna rest my bones in the Spanish sunshine The Italian coastline is calling me To be free as the birds that fly past me Light as the fish in the sea To be wise as the mountains And tall as the trees I wanna be sunny and bright as a sunrise Happy and full as the moon I'm fleeting like fireworks fading too soon

There is soft ground underfoot, spongy and damp, the river is fast-flowing and I am careful to steer clear of the slippery bank. Lichen is everywhere; even the youngest trees are encrusted with it. Here it is as abundant as I have ever seen it, coating almost every trunk and twig with a soft green crust. We had smoked salmon for breakfast, with sticky bread like wet peat and cloudberry, juice the color of apricots. A meal so simple and perfect, a breakfast steeped in the spirit of the place. Here in the woods I hear gushing water and birdsong, but little else. Just the crackle of twigs, the occasional drip, drip of raindrops from the trees.