Quotes About Nature

Outside, the treetops tumbled and tossed, with a foamy whoosh like club soda bubbling up in the glass. The windows were open and a damp cool breeze swirled through the curtains, bewitchingly wild and sweet.

and the green lawn, the gaudy tulips, were hushed and expectant beneath the overcast sky. Somewhere a shutter creaked. Above my head, in the wicked black claws of an elm, a marooned kite rattled convulsively, then was still. This is Kansas, I thought. This is Kansas before the cyclone hits.

And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the sky...

La impresión espartana que transmitía correspondería a su naturaleza o a su bolsillo.

Beauty alters the grain of reality.

A November stillness was settling like a deadly oxymoron on the April landscape.

The swish of the oars and the hypnotic thrum of dragonflies blended with his academic monotone.

The hedges and the acres and acres of lawn were covered in a network of spider web that caught the dew in beads so that it glistened white as frost.

Trees are schizophrenic now and beginning to lose control, enraged with the shock of their fiery new colors. Someone—was it van Gogh?—said that orange is the color of insanity. Beauty is terror. We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.

I am a Californian by birth and also, I have recently discovered, by nature. The last is something I admit only now, after the fact.

The sky was a fierce, burning blue, the trees ferocious shades of red and yellow.

Nature red in tooth and claw.' Perhaps she doesn't

sky darkened rapidly, darker every second; the wind rustled the trees in the park and the new leaves on the trees stood out tender and yellow against black clouds.

It was getting warmer. The dirty snow was pockmarked from the warm rain, and melting in patches to expose the slimy, yellowed grass beneath it; icicles cracked and plunged like daggers from the sharp peaks of the roofs.

The woods were silent, not a sound. Henry smiled. Why, looking for new ferns, he said, and took a step towards him.

Cuanto más agitas los árboles más hojas caen de ellos.

winter grayness weighing like stone.

Even now I remember those pictures, like pictures in a storybook one loved as a child. Radiant meadows, mountains vaporous in the trembling distance; leaves ankle-deep on a gusty autumn road; bonfires and fogs in the valleys; cellos, dark windowpanes, snow.

my shoes squelching on the dewy grass

I feel I should say it as urgently as if I were standing in the room with you. That life – whatever else it is – is short. That fate is cruel but maybe not random. That Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn't mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we're not always so glad to be here, it's our task to immerse ourselves anyway:

Consequently their relationship with their dead brother was of the most intimate sort, his strong, bright, immutable character shining changelessly against the vagueness and vacillation of their own characters, and the characters of people that they knew; and they grew up believing that this was due to some rare, angelic incandescence of nature on Robin's part, and not at all to the fact that he was dead.

A teahouse amid the cherry blossoms, on the way to death. p136

Beauty is harch.

a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being