Quotes About Nature

As full of spirit as the month of May, and as gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer.

Virtue? A fig! 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus.

Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

Alas, the frailty is to blame, not we For such as we are made of, such we be

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, That all with one consent praise new-born gauds, Though they are made and moulded of things past, And give to dust that is a little gilt More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. The present eye praises the present object.

Make me a willow cabin at your gate And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night; Hallo your name to the reverberate hills And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out Olivia! O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth But you should pity me

Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die

This is the very ecstasy of love, Whose violent property fordoes itself And leads the will to desperate undertakings As oft as any passion under heaven That does afflict our natures.

I talk of you: Why did you wish me milder? would you have me False to my nature? Rather say I play The man I am.

Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have and kissed The wild waves whist, Foot is featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.

The rain, it raineth every day.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding they brav'ry in their rotten smoke?

On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily.

O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man's life is cheap as beast's. Thou art a lady: If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need- You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!

Coal-black is better than another hue, In that it scorns to bear another hue; For all the water in the ocean Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood.

When you do dance, I wish you a wave o' the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that.

O, why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies?

Why did you wish me milder? would you have me False to my nature? Rather say I play The man I am.

Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods; since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, but music for the time doth change his nature. The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night and his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.

He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath.

Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw!