Picturesque Quotes

“In all these sights I achieve solace only in bringing forth trees, picturing them blooming like smoke from the roofs of gutted buildings, dreaming of what a fine and picturesque pile of rubble this city will someday make.”
― Tod Wodicka, All Shall Be Well; And All Shall Be Well; And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

“Oh, what did it matter? This night, this glow, the cessation of anxiety and the sense that if living was not purposeful it was, at any rate, essentially romantic!”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

“The picturesque is found any time the ground is uneven.”
― Roland Barthes, Mythologies

“The feeling of freedom, driving into scenery as green and lush as a postcard of Ireland was close to bliss.”
― Diane Meier, The Season of Second Chances

“Ella woke again as they entered the picturesque village of Bibury. A stone bridge arched over the placid River Coln, and Ella craned her neck to watch a swan and its fuzzy, brown cygnets floating alongside beds of watercress and the boggy watermeadow called Rack Isle.
Ella lifted her phone and snapped a picture. "It's like someone cued them."
"I called ahead." They drove past a row of sandstone cottages with colorful gardens, and in the center of town, Heather pointed out the ancient Saxon church. "St. Mary's was on a Christmas stamp a few decades back."
Ella rolled down her window to take another picture. "It's all so- so perfect.”
― Melanie Dobson, Shadows of Ladenbrooke Manor

“It also needs to be remembered that symbolism can affect an aesthetic response in a negative way. To one person the fortress-like chateau towering above the town of Saumur is ‘picturesque’; to another it is a symbol of the tyranny visited on the populace by the military aristocracy and, as such, undermines the aesthetic outcome.”
― Peter F. Smith, The Dynamics of Delight

“It almost felt as if Istanbul had become a blissful metropolis, romantically picturesque, just like Paris, thought Zeliha; not that she had ever been to Paris.”
― Elif Shafak, The Bastard of Istanbul

“Grapefruit isn't usually my favorite fruit, even in the citrus family," he said, thoughtful. "But this is something else."
He was right. It should have been a simple, maybe even boring dish: grapefruit shaved ice, with thin slices of candied grapefruit and mint leaves on top, all heaped into a frozen grapefruit skin. "I think the word you're looking for is transcendent." Somehow the dish was a thousand times greater than the sum of its parts. Each bite of ice literally melted away in my mouth, transforming into something luscious and concentrated, something that brought me right back to being a little kid in my mom's lap, asking for a spoonful of the grapefruit half she'd sprinkled with sugar.
But even better. And it was beautiful, too. I was already imagining the way the miniature shards of ice would glitter in my photo, the way the crystallized grapefruit slices would shine like jewels, how the green shreds of mint would keep it from looking too much like something you'd want to wear around your neck.”
― Amanda Elliot, Best Served Hot

“God made the human soul illustrious, and designed it for exalted pursuits and a glorious destiny. To expand our finite faculties, and afford them a culture both profound and elevating. Nature is spread around us, with all its stupendous proportions, and Revelation speaks to us of an eternal augmentation of knowledge hereafter, for weal or woe.”
― E. L. Magoon

“The carriage drove smoothly along, and the sound of the church bell fell at intervals on the ear, 'in cadence sweet, now dying away'; and, at the holy sound, Mary's heart flew back to the peaceful vale and primitive kirk at Lochmarlie, where all her happy sabbaths had been spent. The view now opened on the villiage church, beautifully situated on the slope of a green hill. Parties of struggling villagers, in their holiday suits, were descried in all directions, some already assembled in the church-yard, others traversing the neat foot-paths that led through the meadows. But, to Mary's eyes, the well dressed English rustic, trudging along the smooth path, was a far less picturesque object, than the bare-footed Highland girl, bounding over trackless heath-covered hills; and the well-preserved glossy blue coat, seemed a poor substitute for the varied drapery of the graceful plaid.”
― Susan Edmonstone Ferrier, Marriage