Quotes About Nature

Moonlight is sculpture: sunlight is painting.

The sun is not only a painter but a sculptor.

What more pleasant sensation than sunshine on skin, Spirit and flesh drinking in nature's pure light.

When my heart is heavy, the sun helps make it light.

Sunshine is Nature's hug and spirit breath to the earth.

The sun is the epitome of benevolence — it is lifegiving and warmthgiving and happinessgiving, and to it we owe our thanksgiving.

When an American says that he loves his country, he means not only that he loves the New England hills, the prairies glistening in the sun, the wide and rising plains, the great mountains, and the sea. He means that he loves an inner air, an inner light in which freedom lives and in which a man can draw the breath of self-respect.

Since I wrote you last, the summer is past and gone, and autumn with the sere and yellow leaf is already upon us. I never knew the time to pass so swiftly, it seems to me, as the past summer. I really think some one must have oiled his chariot wheels, for I don't recollect of hearing him pass, and I am sure I should if something had not prevented his chariot wheels from creaking as usual.

My world has no time except the seasons and the perspectives of youth and old age.

Forget that second-ticking clock. Time is the seed Waiting to fly from the milkweed pod. Time is the speed Of a dragonfly. Time is the weight of the ripened nut Eager to fall. Time is the rabbit's desperate scut. Time's dimensions are hidden in rocks, In wind and rain, but never in clocks.

Time strode with the swiftness of spring blossoms.

There's nothing wrong with having a tree for a friend.

If a man walks in the woods for love of them and see his fellows with impartial eye afar, for half his days, he is esteemed a loafer; but if he spends his whole day as a speculator, shearing off those woods, he is esteemed industrious and enterprising — making earth bald before its time.

Plants are the young of the world, vessels of health and vigor; but they grope ever upward towards consciousness; the trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment, rooted in the ground.

It has been said that trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment rooted in the ground. But they never seem so to me. I never saw a discontented tree. They grip the ground as though they liked it, and though fast rooted they travel about as far as we do. They go wandering forth in all directions with every wind, going and coming like ourselves, traveling with us around the sun two million miles a day, and through space heaven knows how fast and far!

Trees are the fairest ornaments of nature.

But indeed, it is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of the air, that emanation from the old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.

To avoid straining your eyes when you're continuously working, follow the 20-20-20 rule. After 20 minutes of work, look at something 20 feet away, then spend 20 years in the forest.

The trees are whispering to me, reminding me of my roots, and my reach... shhhhhh... can you hear them? Selflessly sharing their subtle song.

...is it not kin of the human family with its roots in the earth and its arms stretching toward the sky as if to seek and to know the great mystery?

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in Summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.

...Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees Bending to counterfeit a breeze...

the moon and plum tree make flow'ry springtime shadows— lovers of the night

Forest air is magical.