Quotes About Nature

Pray for lightning.

Zwei Tage später kamen sie zu einem Tidefluss, wo eine eingestürzte Brücke im langsam sich bewegenden Wasser lag. Sie saßen auf der kaputten Böschungsmauer der Straße und sahen zu, wie der Fluss zurückströmte und über das eiserne Gitterwerk spielte. Er blickte über das Wasser auf das Land dahinter. Was machen wir jetzt, Papa?, fragte er. Ja, was?, sagte der Junge.

What's in a shadow? Do they move along at the speed of the light that casts them? How deep do they get?

Buddy when he come back from up in the panhandle told me one time it quit blowin up there and all the chickens fell over.

keeping to the firmer sand below the tidewrack. They stood, their clothes flapping softly. Glass floats covered with a gray crust. The bones of seabirds. At the tide line a woven mat of weeds and the ribs of fishes in their millions stretching along the shore as far as eye could see like an isocline of death. One vast salt sepulchre. Senseless. Senseless.

They were all day among the dunes and in the evening coming down from the last low sandhills to the plain below among catclaw and crucifixion thorn they were a parched and haggard lot man and beast. Harpie eagles flew up screaming from a dead mule and wheeled off westward into the sun as they led the horses out onto the plain.

Animals might whimper if they're hungry or cold. But they dont start screaming. It's a bad idea. The more noise you make the more likely you are to be eaten. If you've no way to escape you keep silent. If birds couldnt fly they wouldnt sing. When you're defenseless you keep your opinions to yourself.

He built no fire. He lay listening to the horse crop the grass at his stakerope and he listened to the wind in the emptiness and watched stars trace the arc of the hemisphere and die in the darkness at the edge of the world and as he lay there the agony in his heart was like a stake.

the sun rose and the river ran as before but nothing was the same nor did he think it ever would be.

They stood among their horses in the squalid little alameda while the wind ransacked the trees and the birds nesting in the gray twilight cried out and clutched the limbs and the snow swirled and blew across the little square and shrouded the shapes of the mud buildings beyond and made mute the cries of the vendors who'd followed them.

Dont you just love the taste of ozone? Like a fucking zinc milkshake.

The ragged sparks blew down the wind. The prairie about them lay silent. Beyond the fire it was cold and the night was clear and the stars were falling. The old hunter pulled his blanket about him. I wonder if there's other worlds like this, he said. Or if this is the only one.

They rode in a narrow enfilade along a trail strewn with the dry round turds of goats and they rode with their faces averted from the rock wall and the bakeoven air which it rebated, the slant black shapes of the mounted men stenciled across the stone with a definition austere and implacable like shapes capable of violating their covenant with the flesh that authored them and continuing autonomous across the naked rock without reference to sun or man or god.

The mountain road brick-red of dust laced with lizard tracks, coming up through the peach orchard, hot, windless, cloistral in a silence of no birds save one vulture hung in the smokeblue void of the sunless mountainside, rocking on the high updrafts, and the road turning and gated with bullbriers waxed and green, and the green cadaver grin sealed in the murky waters of the peach pit, slimegreen skull with newts coiled in the eyesockets and a wig of moss.

I know that to be female is an older thing even than to be human.

If something did not love you you would not be here.

They watched storms out there so distant they could not be heard

Wow, said Bianca.

That day there was no sun only a paleness in the haze and the country was white with frost and the shrubs were like polar isomers of their own shapes. Wild rams ghosted away up those rocky draws and the wind swirled down cold and gray from the snowy reeks above them, a smoking region of wild vapors blowing down through the gap as if the world up there were all afire.

Animals might whimper if they're hungry or cold. But they dont start screaming. It's a bad idea. The more noise you make the more likely you are to be eaten. If you've no way to escape you keep silent. If birds couldnt fly they wouldnt sing. When you're defenseless you keep your opinions to yourself.

Ones convictions as to the nature of reality must also represent one's limitations as to the perception of it.

y en la democracia óptica de tales paisajes toda preferencia se vuelve caprichosa y hombre y roca terminan por asumir parentescos insospechados.

La gente dice que el coyote es un brujo. Muchas veces el brujo es un coyote.

There's a lot of wreckage out there. Lot of sparclingers. But they cant cling forever. You got people who think it would be a good idea to discover the true nature of darkness. The hive of darkness and the lair thereof. You can see them out there with their lanterns. What is wrong with this picture?