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“Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.
Even now I curse the day—and yet, I think,
Few come within the compass of my curse,�
Wherein I did not some notorious ill,
As kill a man, or else devise his death,
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it,
Accuse some innocent and forswear myself,
Set deadly enmity between two friends,
Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,
And bid the owners quench them with their tears.
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.'
Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things
As willingly as one would kill a fly,
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed
But that I cannot do ten thousand more.”
― William Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus

“A high upland common was this moor, two miles from end to end, and full of furze and bracken. There were no trees and not a house, nothing but a line of telegraph poles following the road, sweeping with rigidity from north to south; nailed upon one of them a small scarlet notice to stonethrowers was prominent as a wound. On so high and wide a region as Shag Moor the wind always blew, or if it did not quite blow there was a cool activity in the air. The furze was always green and growing, and, taking no account of seasons, often golden. Here in summer solitude lounged and snoozed; at other times, as now, it shivered and looked sinister. ("The Higgler")”
― A.E. Coppard, Dusky Ruth and Other Stories

“Avoid the moor in those hours of darkness when the powers of evil are exalted.”
― Arthur Conan Doyle

“There’s nothing wrong in dreaming
when you are awake
Reality is brimming
with hunger, love and ache

The sky is unsure
why the arid moor feels bleak
Quaking of earth to lure
the narrowness of creek

From the poem- Sprinkled”
― Munia Khan

“And, oh! It was a beautiful evening, as heather-purple and gorse-gold as the moorland around them, and the sky above was that stark shade of blue that looked neither dark nor light enough to be true. If it were a painting, a critic might have said that the colours were all wrong. Jack, of course, knew better than that. He had spend many an evening out on the moor. And Meadowsweet â€� oh how she loved it.”
― Chiara Kilian, The First Tale of the Tinners' Rabbits

“As for me, I admire above all Noble Drew's aesthetic, his unique and special blend of Afro-American, Native-American, High Magical, and Oriental symbolism and imagery - as well as his courage, his martyrdom, and his revolutionary stance against "Pharaoh." By Americanizing the prophetic spirit he injected our culture with a kind of folk Sufism. On the esoteric level, anyone who loves Love, Truth, Peace, Freedom, and Justice is a member of the "Asiatic race" and the Lost/Found Moorish Nation of North America.”
― Peter Lamborn Wilson, Sacred Drift: Essays on the Margins of Islam

“This particular queen (Margaret of Scotland) had her Moorish maid baptized Elen Moore (a lot of people with the names Moore, Moorer, Morris etc., probably got their names from their Moorish ancestors—for instance, Morrison means son of a Moor.)”
― Vertamae Smart-Grosvenor, Thursdays and Every Other Sunday Off: A Domestic Rap by Verta Mae

“Color Me Moor Royal”
― SeKeithia Johnson, Color Me Moor Royal