Quotes About Nature

People. They're really innately, inherently gentle and compassionate and kind. That's what wrings, wrenches...something. Your entrails, maybe. The member of the mob who holds up the whole ceremony for seconds or even minutes while he dislodges a family of bugs or lizards from the log he is about to put on the fire.

She smells like trees

final itch-footed destination, and at the same time scattering his ebullient seed in a hundred dusky bellies through a thousand miles of wilderness; innocent and gullible, without bowels for avarice or compassion or forethought either, changing the face of the earth: felling a tree which took two hundred years to grow, in order to extract from it a bear or a capful of wild honey;

H???rd?yordu otlar, üzerinde gölgemin yürüdüÄŸü.

He aimed for them to stay put like a tree or a stand of corn. Because if He'd a aimed for man to be always a-moving and going somewhere else, wouldn't He put him longways on his belly, like a snake? It stands to reason He would.

Pues cuando Él quiere que una cosa se mueva, bien que la hace alargada, sean caminos o caballos o carros; pero cuando Él quiere que una cosa se esté quieta, la hace para arriba, como los árboles y los hombres.

He went on down the hill toward the dark woods within which the liquid silver voices of the birds called unceasing- the rapid and urgent beating o the urgent and quiring heart of the late spring night. He did not look back.

The dead air shapes the dead earth in the dead darkness, further away than seeing shapes the dead earth. It lies dead and warm upon me, touching me naked through my clothes. I said You dont know what worry is. I dont know what it is. I dont know whether I am worrying or not. Whether I can or not. I dont know whether I can cry or not. I dont know whether I have tried to or not. I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth.

I said You don't know what worry is. I don't know what it is. I don't know whether I am worrying or not. Whether I can or not. I don't know whether I can cry or not. I don't know whether I have tried to or not. I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth.

Só que nossa terra não era como esta. Só de caminhar por ela a gente sentia uma coisa. Uma espécie de fecundidade tranquila e violenta que satisfazia até a fome de pão quase.

When [God] aims for something to be always a-moving, He makes it longways, like a road or a horse or a wagon, but when He aims for something to stay put, He makes it up-and-down ways, like a tree or a man. . . . [I]f He'd a aimed for man to be always a-moving and going somewheres else, wouldn't He a put him longways on his belly, like a snake? It stands to reason He would. Anse in As I Lay Dying, pp. 34-5

A veces, durante cierto tiempo, pierdo por completo la fe en la naturaleza humana; me asalta la duda. Pero Dios Nuestro Señor siempre acaba por devolverme la fe y mostrarme su bondadoso amor a las criaturas.

where cotton grows man-tall in the very cracks of the sidewalk, mortgaged before it is even planted and sold and the money spent before it is ever harvested, and usury and mortgage and bankruptcy and measureless wealth all breed and spawn together until no man has time to say which is which, or cares ... This land, said the older hunter. No wonder the ruined woods I used to know don't cry for retribution. The very people who destroyed them will accomplish their revenge.

ama gene de ormanlar olacakt? onun kad?n? ve kar?s?.

The newly emerging ideal was solitude, purity, perfect waves far from civilization.

I had this vague idea that I could be completely happy as an idler, even a beggar, around the water.

The ocean has the conscienceless temper of a savage autocrat spoiled by much adulation. —JOSEPH CONRAD, The Mirror of the Sea

Its color was a muted gray-white until a wave reared; then turquoise floodlights seemed to switch on illuminating the wave's guts from the inside.

Surfers have a perfection fetish. The perfect wave, etcetera. There is no such thing. Waves are not stationary objects in nature like roses or diamonds. They're quick, violent events at the end of a long chain of storm action and ocean reactions.

I've been reduced on certain magnificent days... to just drifting on the shoulder, gawking at the transformation of ordinary seawater into beautifully muscled swell, into feathering urgency, into pure energy, impossibly sculpted, ecstatically edged, and finally into violent foam.

ocean was like an uncaring God, endlessly dangerous, power beyond measure.

The power of a breaking wave does not increase fractionally with height, but as the square of its height. Thus a ten-foot wave is not slightly more powerful than an eight-foot wave—because the leap is not from eight to ten but from sixty-four to a hundred, making it over 50 percent more powerful. This is a brute fact that all surfers know in their bowels, whether or not they've heard the formula.

I had sessions where I got tubed on half my rides. I would trot back to Kobatake's, where Caryn was still asleep on our pallet on the floor, my brain aflame with eight or ten brief, sharp glimpses of eternity.

It rained; then it snowed, and the snow stayed on the paved ground for long enough to become evenly blacked with soot and smoke-fall, evenly but for islands of yellow left by uptown dogs. Then it rained again, and the whole creation was transformed into cold slop, which made walking adventuresome. Then it froze; and every corner presented opportunity for entertainment, the vastly amusing spectacle of well-dressed people suspended in the indecorous positions which precede skull fractures.