Quotes About Nature

Just as trees bear their fruit before winter, just as bamboo grass produces its seeds just before it withers, sex is simply a struggle with death on the human level.

His words were absorbed by the sand and blown by the wind, and there was no way of knowing how far they reached.

Por supuesto, tenía ganas de leer un diario; cuando no se tiene un paisaje natural, es lógico desear un paisaje pintado. Recordaba haber leído que debido a eso la pintura de paisaje se había desarrollado en lugares donde la naturaleza es cerrada, así como el periodismo había tomado impulso en las zonas industriales donde la comunicación humana se había reducido.

Surgido el orden, el hombre ha adquirido el derecho de controlar el sexo y la fuerza bruta, sustituyendo a la naturaleza.

En otras palabras, la belleza de la arena pertenecía al reino de la muerte. La belleza de la muerte, que lleva en sí un gran poder de destrucción y la magnificiencia de las ruinas...

Sexul, conform naturii lui, nu era definit de un singur organism individual, ci de acela al speciei. Individul, dup? terminarea actului, nu poate decît s? se întoarc? la propriul s?u eu. Numai oamenii fericiÅ£i se întorc la mulÅ£umire. Cei care au fost triÅŸti se-ntorc la disperare. Cei care erau pe moarte, se-ntorc la patul lor de moarte.

Frumuse?ea naturii nu trebuie s? simpatizeze numaidecat cu omul. Punctul lui de vedere c? nisipul este un rebut al st?rii sta?ionare nu era nebunie... un fluid de 1/8 mm... o lume a c?rei existen?? era o serie de st?ri succesive. Cu alte cuvinte, frumuse?ea nisipului apar?inea mor?ii. Frumuse?ea mor?ii marca m?re?ia ruinelor lui ?i marea-i putere de distrugere.

Acolo unde dunele se îndreptau spre vest, p?trundea în mare o colin? dominat? de o stînc? gola??. Soarele se sp?rgea pe ea în nenum?rate ace de lumin?.

Ar fi greu s? înfrunÅ£i natura încercînd s? prefaci o pant? blînd? într-una abrupt?.

It would seem that man befouls his daily life with his own excretions far more than a dog does.

you looked back at me... With transparent nonexpression, like rays of sunlight filtering through a forest swept with the cold winds of winter.…

When the sister said that the sea was expressionless, the brother answered that that was not true at all, that it was the best of talkers.

The river that flows in you also flows in me.

There is dew on these poems in the morning, and at night a cool breeze may rise from them. In the winter they are blankets, in the summer a place to swim. I like talking to you like this. Have you moved a step closer? Soon we may be kissing.

I talk to my inner lover, and I say, why such rush? We sense that there is some sort of spirit that loves birds and animals and the ants-- perhaps the same one who gave a radiance to you in your mother's womb. Is it logical you would be walking around entirely orphaned now? The truth is you turned away yourself, and decided to go into the dark alone. Now you are tangled up in others, and have forgotten what you once knew, and that's why everything you do has some weird sense of failure in it.

Slowly slowly O mind... Everything in own pace happens, Gardner may water a hundred buckets... Fruit arrives only in its season.

You can hold back from the suffering of the world, you have permission to do so, and it is in accordance with your nature. But perhaps this very holding back is the one suffering that you could have avoided.

The leaf that spreads in the light is the only holiness there is. I haven't found holiness in the faiths of mortals, or in their music, not in their dreams: it's out in the open field, with the green rows looking at the sky. I don't know what it is, this holiness: but it's there, and it looks at the sky. Probably though this is some conditioning the Company installed to ensure I'd be a good botanist. Well, I grew up into a good one. Damned good.

Jolly felt salty tears on her lips, and for the first time in her life it occurred to her that sorrow tasted exactly like the sea.

the dream had come again, like the sun after a storm. It was the same dream that had come many times before, battering down the doors of my mind night after night since i was a child. it was the sort of dreams all girls dream, i suppose- a dream of mysterious worlds and hidden doorways, of leaves that breathe and make music when they are rustled in the wind, and river that bubbles and froth with secrets.

How can I—how can an insignificant little dewdrop on the grass ever aspire to the sun? How would it ever come to pass?" "Indeed; there's no comparing them, after all. But the dewdrop does capture the vast, seething ball of fire within itself, doesn't it?

Nature is like a wild animal that you have trained to work for you. So long as you are vigilant and walk warily with thought and care, so long will it give you its aid; but look away for an instant, be heedless or forgetful, and it has you by the throat.

Wordsworth had discerned a 'spirit' which was at one and the same time immanent in and distinct from natural phenomena: 'A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought And rolls through all things.

Mythology was not about theology, in the modern sense, but about human experience. People thought that gods, humans, animals and nature were inextricably bound up together, subject to the same laws, and composed of the same divine substance. There