Quotes About Nature

The most normal people have the worst subterranean selves.

He crouched down, and carefully put his finger through the thorns into the round door of the nest. It's almost as if you were feeling inside the live body of the bird, he said... After that, Miriam came to see it everyday. It seemed so close to her. Again, going down the hedge side with the girl, he noticed the celandines, scalloped slashes of gold, on the side of the ditch. I like them, he said, when their petals go flat back with the sunshine. They seem to be pressing themselves at the sun.

Ours is the universe of the unfolded rose, The explicit, The candid revelation.

We fucked a flame into being. Even the flowers are fucked into being between the sun and the earth.

Paul, walking alongside, laced his fingers in the strings of the bag Miriam was carrying... the meadow was bathed in a glory of sunshine, and the path was jewelled, and it was seldom that he gave her any sign. She held her fingers very still among the strings of the bag, his fingers touching.

Be as promiscuous as the rabbits!' said Hammond. 'Why not? What's wrong with rabbits? Are they any worse than a neurotic, revolutionary humanity, full of nervous hate?

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!

You pluck flower after flower — it is never the flower. The flower itself — its calyx is a horrible gulf, it is the bottomless pit.

The central law of all organic life is that each organism is intrinsically isolate and single in itself. The moment its isolation breaks down, and there comes an actual mixing and confusion, death sets in.

In front of the house was a huge old ash-tree. The west wind, sweeping from Derbyshire, caught the houses with full force, and the tree shrieked again. Morel liked it. It's music, he said. It sends me to sleep. But Paul and Arthur and Annie hated it. To Paul, it became an almost demonical noise.

Are you always like this? he asked. Loathing the very flesh on your bones, and the words of your mouth? It's only the unnatural things, she replied. When things natural they are beautiful. And what isn't natural? he asked. Everything man had made, she answered, including himself.

All human beings are vines. But especially the idealist. He is a vine, and he needs to clutch and climb. And he despises the man who is a mere potato, or turnip, or lump of wood.

My known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest.

Lei è come un fiore dietro un sasso, vicino a una pozza gelata. No, lei non vive abbastanza.

I offer a bunch of pansies, not a wreath of immortelles. I don't want everlasting flowers and I don't want to offer them to anyone else. A flower passes, and that is perhaps the best of it… don't nail the pansy down. You won't keep it any better if you do.

Death cannot create nor destroy. What is, is.

There is only one tree, there is only one fruit, in your mouth.

She went to the wood next day. It was a grey, still afternoon, with the dark-green dogs'-mercury spreading under the hazel copse, and all the trees making a silent effort to open their buds. Today she could almost feel it in her own body, the huge heave of the sap in the massive trees, upwards, up, up to the bud-tips, there to push into little flamey oak-leaves, bronze as blood. It was like a tide running turgid upward, and spreading on the sky.

Avluya ç?karken, genç horoz öttü. C?l?zlaÅŸm??, k?s?k bir ses ç?kar?yordu ama kuÅŸun bu sesinde ac?dan kuvvetli bir ÅŸey vard?. YaÅŸamak gerekliliÄŸiydi bu, hatta dirimin zaferini ç???rmakt?.

where the moon was wrestling heroically to win free of the pack of clouds which hung on her like wolves on a white deer.

A Prelude, 1907 Lessford's Rabbits, 1908

And voices in me said, if you were a man You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off. But must I confess how I liked him, How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless, Into the burning bowels of this earth? Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him? Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him? Was it humility, to feel so honoured? I felt so honoured.

To contemplate the extermination of the human species and the long pause that follows before some other species crops up, it calms you more than anything else.

The leaves fly over the window and whisper a word as they pass To the face that leans from the darkness, intent, with two eyes of darkness That watch forever earnestly from behind the window glass.