Quotes About Appreciation

Nothing is more humbling than to look with a strong magnifying glass at an insect so tiny that the naked eye sees only the barest speck and to discover that nevertheless it is sculpted and articulated and striped with the same care and imagination as a zebra. Apparently it does not occur to nature whether or not a creature is within our range of vision, and the suspicion arises that even the zebra was not designed for our benefit.

The mere exposure to masterworks does not suffice. Too many persons visit museums and collect picture books without ever gaining access to art. The inborn capacity to understand through the eyes has been put to sleep and must be reawakened. This is best accomplished by handling pencils, brushes, chisels and perhaps cameras.

Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made By singing: -"Oh, how beautiful!" and sitting in the shade.

Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made By singing:—"Oh, how beautiful!" and sitting in the shade...

Like a sculptor, if necessary, carve a friend out of stone. Realize that your inner sight is blind and try to see a treasure in everyone.

When someone is counting out gold for you, don't look at your hands, or the gold. Look at the giver.

Wear gratitude like a cloak and it will feed every corner of your life.

Happiness is wanting what you already have.

Live your life in the now, because you get to a certain age and you realize, "Wow, that was fast.

INSTEAD OF CONSTANTLY POINTING OUT WHAT'S MISSING, CELEBRATE WHAT IS.

I cannot pretend that I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved. I have been given much and I have given something in return . . . Above all, I have been a sentient being on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.

Our nation was created in ways that allow human potential to prosper, and it created the greatest nation for people in the history of humanity. Now Obama is dismantling it, because he has no appreciation for our greatness. In fact, he resents it. He blames this country for whatever evils he sees around the world.

And when the rains were over and it was October and the birds were in song again, I could lie in the sun on sweet-smelling grass and gaze up through a pattern of oak leaves into a blind-blue heaven. And I would thank my God for leaves and grass and the smell of things, the smell of mint and myrtle and bruised clover, and the touch of things, the touch of grass and air and sky, the touch of the sky's blueness.

Botanists have done their best to intimidate and confuse the nature lover. But we should not allow ourselves to be discouraged; we have as much right to the enjoyment of wild flowers as they. So I will disregard the botanist and I will go looking for the pretty flower that I have named Merry Heart. It is always nodding and dancing in the breeze. It is a happy flower, deserving of a happy, light name.

Dry bread at home is better then curried prawns abroad.

The world might be more beautiful without the human presence; but then, who would appreciate it?

There is much to celebrate – just being alive, to begin with.

No, thanks,' I said. 'I live in a tiny flat in Delhi. No room for flowers.' 'A world without flowers,' he shook his head. 'That's what it's coming to.

forward to another great day on the planet Earth. We must cherish each day as though it is our last.

And that's what I've been doing all my life—plodding along, singing my song, telling my tales in my own unhurried way. I have lived life at my own gentle pace, and if as a result I have failed to get to the top of the mountain (or of anything else), it doesn't matter, the long walk has brought its own sweet rewards; buttercups and butterflies along the way.   Ruskin Bond Landour, March 2005  

William Henry Davies wrote these lines in 1911, and they ring true even over a century later. It is the truth; we really don't have the time to stand and stare. I always think of this when I don't have the luxury of time and am told to travel by airplanes, usually for book fairs and literature festivals. I wish I could take the train to every destination I travel to. There would be so much more to see, and many more stories to tell. The first

Of what use is a poppy in a cornfield? Of what use is a rainbow? Of what use are you, numbskull? Wretch! I, too, have a soul. I want the umbrella, because-because I want its beauty to be mine!

We must move on, of course. There's no point in hankering after distant pleasures and lost picture palaces. But there's no harm in indulging in a little nostalgia. What is nostalgia, after all, but an attempt to preserve that which was good in the past? And

For a room without a view is hardly a living place—merely a place of transit.