Quotes About Nature

The least thing upset him on the links. He missed short putts because of the uproar of the butterflies in the adjoining meadows.

It was one of those still evenings you get in the summer, when you can hear a snail clear its throat a mile away.

as if Nature had intended to make a gorilla, and had changed its mind at the last moment

I really preferred to walk. I have only just landed in England from New York, and it's quite a treat to walk on an English country road again.

There is a fog, sir. If you will recollect, we are now in Autumn – season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.

He picked up one of the dead bats and covered it with his handkerchief. 'Somebody's mother,' he murmured reverently.

If she ever turned into a werewolf, it would be one of those jolly breezy werewolves whom it is a pleasure to know.

The fact that pigs were abroad in the night seemed to bring home to me the perilous nature of my enterprise.

There's too much of that where-every-prospect-pleases-and-only-man-is-vile stuff buzzing around for my taste.

He looks much more like a lobster than most lobsters do.

It was one of those heavy, sultry afternoons when nature seems to be saying to itself, 'Now, shall I, or shall I not, scare the pants off these people with a hell of a thunderstorm?

It seems to be one of Nature's laws that the most attractive girls should have the least attractive brothers. Fillmore Nicholas had not worn well. At the age of seven he had been an extraordinarily beautiful child, but after that he had gone all to pieces; and now, at the age of twenty-five, it would be idle to deny that he was something of a mess.

It's brain, I said; pure brain! What do you do to get like that, Jeeves? I believe you must eat a lot of fish, or something. Do you eat a lot of fish, Jeeves? No, sir. Oh, well, then, it's just a gift, I take it; and if you aren't born that way there's no use worrying.

She had turned away and was watching a duck out on the lake. It was tucking into weeds, a thing I've never been able to understand anyone wanting to do. Though I suppose, if you face it squarely, they're no worse than spinach.

I must say my heart leaped up, as Jeeves tells me his does when he beholds a rainbow in the sky.

When Nature makes a chump like dear old Bobbie, she's proud of him, and doesn't want her handiwork disturbed. She gives him a sort of natural armour to protect him against outside interference. And that armour is shortness of memory. Shortness of memory keeps a man a chump, when, but for it, he might cease to be one.

Why has the car stopped? Ah! I said with manly frankness that became me well. There you have me. You see, I'm one of those birds who drive a lot but don't know the first thing about the works. The policy I pursue is to get aboard, prod the self-starter, and leave the rest to Nature. If anything goes wrong, I scream for an A.A. scout. It's a system that answers admirably as a rule, but on the present occasion it blew a fuse owing to the fact that there wasn't an A.A. scout within miles.

If I meet a bird, I wave a friendly hand at it, to let it know that I wish it well, but I don't want to crouch behind a bush observing its habits.

It was as if Nature had intended to make a gorilla, and had changed its mind at the last moment.

The snail was on the wing and the lark on the thorn - or, rather, the other way around - and God was in His heaven and all right with the world. And presently the eyes closed, the muscles relaxed, the breathing became soft and regular, and sleep, which does something which has slipped my mind to the something sleeve of care, poured over me in a healing wave.

she was usually keenly susceptible to weather conditions and reveled in sunshine like a kitten.

It would seem to be an inexorable law of Nature that no man shall shine at both ends. If he has a high forehead and a thirst for wisdom, his fox-trotting (if any) shall be as the staggerings of the drunken; while, if he is a good dancer, he is nearly always petrified from the ears upward.

Hear him now as he toils. He has a long garden-implement in his hand, and he is sending up the death-rate in slug circles with a devastating rapidity.             Ta-ra-ra boom-de-ay              Ta-ra-ra BOOM— And the boom is a death-knell. As it rings softly out on the pleasant spring air, another stout slug has made the Great Change.

Aunt Agatha is like an elephant- not so much to look at, for in appearance she resembles more a well-bred vulture, but because she never forgets.