Quotes About Nature

Lanny had seen much poverty here and elsewhere, but never more gaunt and haggard humans than he found in this lonely valley in the naked hills of Aragon, bitter cold in winter and blazing hot in summer.

That was one of the first things they were to learn about subtropical China; never would you find a single square inch on which food might be grown that did not have food growing.

Of course it was terrible that men went to war and killed one another; but for that you had to blame nature, not the Budd family.

Today, girls,' said Miss Renshaw, 'we shall go out into the beautiful Gardens and think about death.

Though no one recognized his strength, Anand was among the strong. His satirical sense kept him aloof. At first this was only a pose, and imitation of his father. But satire led to contempt, and at Shorthills contempt, quick, deep, inclusive, became part of his nature. It led to inadequacies, to self-awareness and a lasting loneliness. But it made him unassailable.

ancestors, perhaps as friends, perhaps as foes—we do not know. Nor again do we know why they vanished, although given our species' dismal record as responsible stewards of nature, it's a decent bet that we drove them to extinction.

Laughter is nature's ok signal.

Nos alegramos cuando vemos al sol alzarse cada mañana y cuando se pone durante la tarde, sin comprender que con él se van también nuestras vidas.

Their way, so cool with verdant shade. Then Sítá viewed that best of trees, And

Man is not an omipotent master of the universe, allowed to do with impunity whatever he thinks, or whatever suits him at the moment. The world we live in is made of an immensely complex and mysterious tissue about which we know very little and which we must treat with utmost humility.

This trifecta turned the book into the best-known nonfiction work of the 1960s. Silent Spring presented the use of DDT as one of the most consequential human interferences in the natural order of things, and the book was intended to make the widest possible public impact.

Redder than a turkey's rump in poke berry time.

If you loved the world the Creator had made for you, you did not shut out the blue heaven and its lights, or lie in foul air in a stuffy room, when in a bed outside you could smell the morning and watch its mother-of-pearl light softly touch the hills.

Trees in the north die lying down – like people.

A mountain had died, its skeleton had been scattered over the ground. Time had aged the mountain; time had killed the mountain-and here lay the mountain's bones.

What constitutes the character of a nation is the character of many individual human beings; every national character is in essence, simply human nature. All the worlds nations, therefore, have a great deal in common with one another. The foundation of any national character is human nature. The foundation of national character is simply a particular colouring taken on by human nature, a particular crystallisation of it.

Everything that lives is unique. It is unimaginable that two people, or two briar-roses, should be identical . . . If you attempt to erase the peculiarities and individuality of life by violence, then life itself must suffocate.

A soft, gentle light fell on the forest-floor, diffused by a screen of foliage. The air itself was thick and congealed; a fighter-pilot, accustomed to a rushing wind, felt this very acutely.

Each wave breaking against the cliff would believe it was dying for the good of the sea; it would never occur to it that, like thousands of waves before and after, it had only been brought into being by the wind.

If everyone had two little apple trees like this, I believe there'd be no need for wars. Fascism would be impotent. These knobbly little branches are like honest arms and hands. They could save the world from war, savagery and disaster.

And there had even been room in his head for the rustling of leaves, the light of the moon, millet porridge with milk, the sound of flames in the stove, snatches of tunes, the barking of dogs, the Roman Senate, Soviet Information Bureau bulletins, a hatred of slavery, and a love of melon seeds.

El sol no se preocupa del viento, de las nubes, de las tormentas en el mar, del rumor de las hojas; pero en su movimiento uniforme, sabe que todo en la tierra existe gracias a él.

La luce della sera svela la natura profonda delle cose, trasforma l'impressione visiva in un quadro, la rende storia, sentimento, destino. Con il sole al tramonto, le macchie di fango e di fuliggine hanno mille voci, il cuore sussulta e tu hai di fronte felicità ormai perdute, lutti che non possono essere colmati, errori amari e la malìa eterna della speranza.

Beautiful. Autumn-raw. She must be a witch of some kind