Quotes About Nature

There was the blue sky above her and all those many roses, the ones that gave off the scent of cloves in the rain and the ones that left a trace of lemon on your fingers, the ones that were the color of blood, and those that were as white as clouds. Each one was sweeter than the next and as red as gemstones.

and from then on whenever he smells lilacs he'll think about this moment. How the bees were circling above him, how purple the ink on the leaflets he's been distributing suddenly seemed, how he realized, all at once, just how beautiful a woman can be.

The grass he walked through was new and a sweet smell clung to his clothes. There was blue dye on his hands from the wild irises... that the color of the sky was a shade that could never be replicated in any photograph, just as Heaven could never be seen from the confines of Earth.

But try as you might to protect people from danger, you cannot keep them from their true nature.

But I was not a mouse. In the fields where I walked, I was much more interested in the actions of the hawks.

She, who prided herself on her tough exterior, could always be undone by the beauty of flight.

In no time the perennial borders were thick with rosy-pink foxglove and cream-colored lilies, each of which hung like a pendant, collecting dew on its satiny petals.

She has an eye for tragedy and sorrow. Show her a rose and she'll see only the wasp in the center of the bloom.

If we had no hurt and no sin to speak of, we'd be angels, and amgels can't love the way men and women do.

WITCHES TAKE THEIR NAMES FROM PLACES, for places are what give them their strength. The place need not be beautiful, or habitable, or even green. Sand and salt, so much the better. Scrub pine, plumberry, and brambles, better still. From every bitter thing, after all, something hardy will surely grow. From every difficulty, the seed that's sewn is that much stronger. Ruin is the milk all witches must drink; it's the lesson they learn and the diet they're fed upon.

roses) each one shivering with cool silver light.

odds don't matter. The natural world defies statistics.

Lightning, like love, is never ruled by logic.

Her gift with wild birds allowed her to bring them to her merely by lifting her hand. From a distance, when she ran so fast she was nearly flying, it seemed as if she spoke their language, and was meant for their world more than her own.

The air was soft, as it often was in this lovely month, and Eddie inhaled its sweetness. He found himself uplifted as he worked, caught up in something outside himself and his petty wants and needs. The clouds drifted like ice in a tumbler. Through his lens the river seemed made of light, there was the shimmer, and for a moment the world seemed whole to him.

The only way to understand a river is to jump into it.

I had never before noticed that rain contained every color within itself, green as the fields, blue as heaven, white as a lamb, yellow as my daughter's hair.

She was beautiful. That's why her name was April.

Midsummer's Eve, the summer solstice, when the day is so long it seems for once there is all the time in the world.

Each morning when I arrive, the doves know me; their song rises and falls with pleasure and acceptance. It is always there, a river of sound.

Witches are made, not born.

They were beautiful shells, as white as the surf in the sea. When you held one up to your ear you could hear the sound of your best friend talking to you, even if she was a thousand miles away.

The fields were rifle with clouds of Queen Anne's lace, which would make a billowy wreath. Her father had always said there people who saw Queen Anne's lace as a weed, and those who considered it a flower, and he belonged to the latter group. If you think it's beautiful it is, he had told her.

Is it not beautiful?" I said of the world around us. Is it not terrible?