Quotes About Nature

S? vezi o Lume într-un gr?unte de nisip, Åži un Paradis într-o floare de câmp, S? Å£ii Infinitul în palm?, Åži Eternitatea într-o or?.

Roses are planted where thorns grow, and on the barren heath sing the honey bees.

Is that a good definition of marking the ageing watershed? That moment when you realize - quite rationally, quite unemotionally - that the world in the not-so-distant future will not contain you: that the trees you planted will continue growing but you will not be there to see them.

All the itch and clutter of the world, its bother and fuss, its nagging pettiness, can wear you down so easily. And this is why I like the beach ...

Then, as I stood in that English garden on the soft early summer night, I felt a surge of pure well-being engulf my whole body. I felt a shivering current of happiness and benevolence flow through me.

Lysander saw that they were displaying all the timeworn and conventional feints and poor disguises of lovers meeting in a public place and hoping the real nature of their relationship would be invisible.

What drew me down there, I wonder, to the edge of the garden? I remember the summer light--the trees, the bushes,the grass luminously green, basted by the bland, benevolent late-afternoon sun. Was it the light? But there was the laughter, also, coming from where a group of people had gathered by the pond. Someone must have been horsing around making everyone else laugh. The light and laughter, then.

that a good definition of marking the ageing watershed? That moment when you realize – quite rationally, quite unemotionally – that the world in the not-so-far-distant future will not contain you: that the trees you planted will continue growing but you will not be there to see them.

And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks of her dress in a strange bedroom-- feels the autumn dropping its silk and linen leaves about her ankles. The tawdry veined body emerges twisted upon itself like a winter wind.

Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood's edge

The Hurricane The tree lay down on the garage roof and stretched, You have your heaven, it said, go to it.

The noiseless wheels of my car rush with a crackling sound over dried leaves as I bow and pass smiling.

Shoes twisted into incredible lilies.

Rot dead marigolds- an acre at a time! Gold are you?

You're a romanticist. What do you think a man is, a papaya? To digest your dinner? In pill form?

We laughed at the hollyhocks together and then I sprayed them with lye. Forgive me. I simply do not know what I am doing.

Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks.

Your thighs are apple trees. Your knees are the southern breeze.

Marriage So different, this man And this woman: A stream flowing In a field.

the faucet of June that rings the triangle of the air

Winter Trees All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among the long branches. Thus having prepared their buds against a sure winter the wise trees stand sleeping in the cold.

Observe the jasmine lightness of the moon.

Ah, Madam, what good are your thoughts romantic but true beside this gaiety of the sun and that huge appetite? Look! from a glass pitcher she serves clear water to the white chickens. What are your memories beside that purity?

To imitate nature involves the verb to do. To copy is merely to reflect something already there, inertly: Shakespeare's mirror is all that is needed for it. But by imitation we enlarge nature itself, we become nature or we discover in ourselves nature's active part.