Quotes About Nature

Any pattern repeated over and over is bound to turn into wallpaper eventually, whether it's flowers or corpses.

Wayne didn't interact with nature. He took pictures of it with his iPhone and then bent over the screen and poked at it. His favorite thing about the lake house was that it had Wi-Fi.

She ran into the early-October afternoon. The light came at a low slant through the oaks across the street, gold and green, and how she loved that light. There was no light in the world like you saw in New England in early fall.

She knew even before she opened her eyes that she was home—or not home, but in her woods at least. She knew they were her woods by the smell of pines and the quality of the air, a scrubbed, cool, clean sensation that she associated with the Merrimack River. She could hear the river, distantly, a gentle, soothing rush of sound that was really in no way like static.

Harper's face was buried in Mr. Truffle's fur and with each inhalation she smelled the last nine months of his secret cat life: must, dust, grave dirt, basements and tall grass, beach and drainpipe, Dumpster and dandelions. The

Eu acho isso a parte mais linda de todas. Tudo aquilo que você acha que te define é removido feito um embrulho de Natal. O Brilho te reduz à sua parte mais verdadeira, à sua melhor parte, à versão de você que vai mais fundo do que um nome ou do que o time de futebol para o qual você torce. E você adquire consciência de si mesmo como apenas uma folha numa árvore, e todos aqueles que você conhece e ama são as outras folhas.

I understand Gil has a quote by Graham Greene on his chest," Renée said. She was studying a bit of wet snow as it slid off the tip of one boot. Her voice was calculatedly indifferent. "Something about the nature of imprisonment.

Lake Pontchartrain, huh?

It was, I imagine, how bees feel. Not like an individual at all, but like one humming note in a whole world of perfect, useful music.

They made their unsteady way up onto damp, firm sand, through the cool wet.

asleep, her eyes partly shut as she tramped across the dew-soaked grass. Today she had on a thick white fluffy cap with

It was a curious quirk of Harper's nature that she grew calmer in the moments when others were most inclined to sink into hysterics; that she was habitually at her most observant and clear-eyed in the very times when others could not bear to see what was happening at all. She would've made a fine battlefield nurse. She

Her hayat?n içine biraz yaÄŸmur yaÄŸmal? derler.

Innocence ain't all it's cracked up to be, you know. Innocent little kids rip the wings off flies, because they don't know any better. That's innocence.

a place to throw down a blanket and read a book.

the plant that is the park's namesake. The Joshua trees look hilariously alien. Like Satan's telephone poles. They're primitive, irregularly limbed, their branches swooning up and down, sparsely covered with syringe-thin leaves—more like spines, Angie notes. Some mature trees have held their insane poses for a thousand years; they look as if they were on drugs and hallucinating themselves.

She would send me pictures of the sky, big blue western skies with little lumps of white cloud in them, and she'd write: The cloud in the middle is my pet unicorn. Or: That cloud over the mountains is you hiding under a sheet. Once she sent me a picture of a mountain pool, a cloud reflected in it as if it were a mile-wide mirror, and texted: I want to hold you like the water holds the sky.

The deep and vivid blueness of the sky was a little disorientating. The sunshine was headache-bright, bothered my eyes.

There is something incredibly nostalgic and significant about the annual cascade of autumn leaves.

There is something deep within us that sobs at endings. Why, God, does everything have to end? Why does all nature grow old? Why do spring and summer have to go?

I trust the sun to rise and the sun to set, though I know one day it will do these things without me.

Era semplicemente il fiume. Improvvisamente mi colpì il pensiero che era proprio come la vita, quel fiume. Tu ci navighi semplicemente sopra e, se arriva una pioggia forte, un'inondazione o qualcosa del genere e una parte viene spazzata via, col tempo tutto torna al suo posto. Be', magari con qualcosa di diverso, ma in sostanza resta lo stesso. Il fiume non cambia, ma la gente su quel fiume sì.

All us humans are fouled on both ends. One we shit out of, and the other we talk shit out of.

Sometimes he felt as if he had stepped into an alternate universe where the old laws of nature and what was right and wrong did not apply.