Quotes About Nature

On Aigburth Road, wind was doing its best to direct the shoppers, but failed to throw Rose under a car. Layer on layer of dark cloud piled up like sediment at the horizon. Against the sky trees glared, bunches of frayed rusty wire. Birds were scraps of light high overhead, in danger of being blown out. Above a church doorway a Virgin and Child were caged by wire netting, which rattled as though they were trying to escape.

A pang of love for my country suddenly strikes through me. That lazy way the trees and bushes dot the land. The effortless beauty of the mountains and the secrets hidden within them.

Really I began the day Not with a man's wish: "May this day be different," But with the birds' wish: "May this day Be the same day, the day of my life.

The days went by for him, all different and all the same. The boy was happy, and yet he didn't know that he was happy, exactly: he couldn't remember having been unhappy. If one day as he played at the edge of the forest some talking bird had flown down and asked him: "Do you like your life" he would not have known what to say, but would have asked the bird: "Can you not like it?

The Name of the Rose and J. M. Synge's Riders to the Sea?

and could hear her susurrus breath sounding like leaves stirring

He sagged against the tree, clung to it, pushed hard against the horrible images while he chanted to the bark, She is a dark-haired woman, green eyed and dusky with secrets. Her mouth is sensuous but sad, limbs long and elegant, every movement languid…

Bruno] Latour argues that one of the foundational gestures of western modernity has been the effort to formulate and police a heightened antimony between nonhuman nature and human culture. -- Randall Styers, Making Magic , p. 17

Obey the warning signs; don't go into the wilderness alone; and don't believe for a moment that you are better, stronger, faster, or more nimble than the natural forces around you.

In the clinic it is obvious that what patients believe about human nature influences their lives and problems.

mosquitoes have primitive eyes that don't recognize the color yellow.

Beauty is a genetic device: trickery that instigates competition.

riding in an airboat is like being vaulted onto a plain of ice, an overpowered airplane propeller strapped to your butt.

Nature is only wild to those who seperate themselves from her.

Different states of consciousness project different images of God–loving or vengeful or jealous, energetic or terrifying, and different images of God affect the nature and quality of our response to God. . . . The image or idea of God as wrathful and jealous will have a different effect than the image or the idea of God as loving. Similarly, whether God is regarded as male or female will have a significant impact on the culture. (29)

What the fuck is legal in this universe? Stars eat each other, wolves eat the pigs, and Grandma fucks over Little Red Riding Hood.

So long, I replied, may we all have one good flight before we rest among flowers and the orbits of hungry worms.

I had tried many times to tell her that my suicide attempt was only my way of trying to escape the permanence of the sun. With frankness, and using my limited psychological knowledge and powers of articulation, I tried to explain to her that I had attempted suicide out of a kind of curiosity, or maybe as a challenge to nature, to the cosmos itself, to the recurring light. I felt oppressed by it all.

There is nothing like the cure of fresh air for cases of bladder infection, paranoia, and Cartesian thinking.

What do the stars believe in, Zainab? Where do the dead horses go, what do the birds worship, and what do the rivers live for?

There are potholes on the road less traveled. Some deep, some not so deep, some you dig yourself. Most are filled with mud. Many contain rocks. Once in a while, however, you'll be walking along and step in one a bit more accommodating... shabby, green, and pulsing with life. It'll tickle your feet, like clover.

Above the dunes of Pawleys Island a choir of sea oats bent westward, tickling the sunset and waving g'night.

As if it were a guest of honor bowing out prematurely, the sun sank wide-eyed and mischievous, to where staring was permissible and admiration was the only option, a pastel departure as wondrous and unique as fingerprint.

The Universe has shouted itself alive. We are one of the shouts.