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These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt.
I follow the sheep path between them. A last hook brings me
To the hills' northern face, and the face is orange rock
That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space
Of white and pewter lights, and a din like silversmiths
Beating and beating at an intractable metal.
--
"Blackberrying"

 

Sylvia Plath

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A face that lifted up; sweet face
That was so like a life begun,
That rose for me a rising sun
Above the bended seven hills
Of dead and risen old new Rome.

 

Joaquin Miller

 

Our love was nature; and the peace that floated
On the white mist, and dwelt upon the hills,
To sweet accord subdued our wayward wills:
One soul was ours, one mind, one heart devoted,
That, wisely doating, ask'd not why it doated.
And ours the unknown joy, which knowing kills.
But now I find how dear thou wert to me;
That man is more than half of nature's treasure,
Of that fair beauty which no eye can see,
Of that sweet music which no ear can measure;
And now the streams may sing for other's pleasure,
The hills sleep on in their eternity.

 

Hartley Coleridge

 

When I got my salt scrub today, the woman doing it said “Yes, in fact about 30% of our clientele are men. But mostly, they are Divorced Rich Beverly Hills Ladies.” And I thought (not out loud) who were these ladies? These "ladies" were not born like that were they? Not destined to face lifts and peels, loneliness, tight lips and hard hair. No, in fact, hey were born free and beautiful and confident. And hopeful and anxious to find love. They only became Divorced Rich Beverly Hills Ladies because their rich husbands dropped them for someone more f**kable: maybe someone with long straight natural hair and thin legs who wears shorts and t- shirts with ease. Maybe a young photographer or writer. Someone interesting. No, the Divorced Rich Beverly Hills Ladies were too busy having and raising children, and too busy buying him gold toe socks at Barneys to become interesting.

 

Kathy Najimy

 

And on her lover's arm she leant,
And round her waist she felt it fold,
And far across the hills they went
In that new world which is the old:
Across the hills, and far away
Beyond their utmost purple rim,
And deep into the dying day
The happy princess follow'd him.

 

Alfred (Lord) Tennyson

 

The great man folded his palms and bowed all around him. He had one of those either/or faces that all great Indian politicians have. This face says that it is now at peace—and you can be at peace too if you follow the owner of that face. But the same face can also say, with a little twitch of its features, that it has known the opposite of peace and it can make this other face yours too, if it wishes.

 

Aravind Adiga