Quotes About Nature

He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow : his navel, bud of flesh : and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower. [84]

I have met with you, bird, too late, or if not, too worm and early

that was owl the God's clock it was

There's music along the river For Love wanders there

Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning peace from the stairhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. White breast of the dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords.

Se på havet. Hva bryr vel det seg om krenkelser? Buck Mulligan

When all things repose, do you alone Awake to hear the sweet harps play To Love before him on his way, And the night wind answering in antiphon Till night is overgone?

We are right, he said, and the others are wrong. To speak of these things and to try to understand their nature and, having understood it, to try slowly and humbly and constantly to express, to press out again, from the gross earth or what it brings forth, from sound and shape and colour which are the prison gates of our soul, an image of the beauty we have come to understand- that is art.

And we stuffing food in one hole and out behind: food, chyle, blood, dung, earth, food: have to feed it like stoking an engine.

No roses without thorns.

And they fell upong one another: and themselves they have fallen. And still nowanights and by nights of yore do all bold floras of the field to their shyfaun lovers say only: Cull me ere I wilt to thee!: and, but a little later: Pluck me whilst I blush!

There'll be bluebells blowing in salty sepulchres the night she signs her final tear.

These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here.

So entire and unquestionable was this sense of the divine meaning in all nature granted to his soul that he could scarcely understand why it was in any way necessary that he should continue to live. Yet that was part of the divine purpose and he dared not question its use, he above all others who had sinned so deeply and so foully against the divine purpose.

People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus.

Quietly, sure of his ground, he traversed the dismal fields.

nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants.

Neither he nor she had had any such adventure before and neither was conscious of any incongruity. Little by little he entangled his thoughts with hers. He lent her books, provided her with ideas, shared his intellectual life with her. She listened to all. Sometimes in return for his theories, she gave out some fact of her own life. With almost maternal solicitude, she urged him to let his nature open to the full; she became his confessor.

affection, increases care. He is a new male: his growth is his father's decline, his youth his father's envy, his friend his father's enemy. In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought it. --What links them in nature? An instant of blind rut. Am I a father? If I were? Shrunken uncertain hand.

He felt above him the vast indifferent dome and the calm processes of the heavenly bodies; and the earth beneath him, the earth that had borne him, had taken him to her breast.

Llegan, las olas. Los hipocampos crestiblancos, tascando, embridados en fúlgidos céfiros, los corceles de Mananaan.

often she wondered why you couldn't eat something poetical like violets or roses

White breast of the dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the dim tide.

He was not convinced of the truth of the saying [] "The poet is born, not made" but he was quite sure of the truth of this at least: [] "The poem is made not born.