Quotes About Nature

Then to the elements be free...

I think the sun where he were born drew all such humours from him.

Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

Humanity must perforce prey upon itself, like monsters of the deep.

Wisdom! To leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion and his titles, in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not. He wants the natural touch; for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight,             Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear and nothing is the love, As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason

Is it physical To walk unbraced and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed To dare the vile contagion of the night?

What, is the jay more precious than the lark Because his feathers are more beautiful? Or is the adder better than the eel Because his painted skin contents the eye?

Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. Put out the light, and then put out the light: If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me: but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.

That which we call a rose      By any other name would smell as sweet;

And strange it is That nature must compel us to lament Our most persisted deeds.

For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, Than women's are. ... For women are as roses, whose fair flow'r Being once display'd doth fall that very hour. Viola: And so they are; alas, that they are so! To die, even when they to perfection grow!

But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.

Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine, it sends some precious instance of itself after the thing it loves.

Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, You owe me no subscription: then let fall Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man: But yet I call you servile ministers, That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!

Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'er-step not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.

the pleached bower, Where honeysuckles ripened by the sun Forbid the sun to enter, like favorites Made proud by princes, that advance their pride Against that power that bred it.

O thou weed, Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet

for naught so vile on the Earth doth live, but to the Earth some special good doth give

You wait on nature's mischief. Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry "Hold, hold!

The crow signs as sweetly as the lark when no one's paying attention to them, and I think that if the nightingale sang during the day while all the geese were cackling, people would think it sounded no better than a wren. So many things are made perfect and as they should be by good timing! But quiet. Look how the moon won't be awakened. It must be sleeping with  [Endymion

Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven! Wind, rain, and thunder, remember earthly man Is but a substance that must yield to you.

Poor bird! Thou 'dst never fear the net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin.

Le han visto allí muchas mañanas, aumentando con su llanto el rocío de la mañana, añadiendo a las nubes sus nubes de suspiros. Mas, en cuanto el sol, que todo alegra, comienza a descorrer por el remoto oriente las oscuras cortinas del lecho de Aurora, mi melancólico hijo huye de la luz y se encierra solitario en su aposento, cerrando las ventanas, expulsando toda luz y creándose una noche artificial

a raven's heart within a dove.