Quotes About Nature

Samie was one of those nosy kind of cats. He would lie up on the red oak limbs and watch every move I made.

looked over to where I had dropped my net. There it was right where I had dropped it; wide open and not a monkey in it. I couldn't believe it. How on earth could the little monkeys have gotten out of the net? My first thought was that the yellow ring had gotten tangled in a bush, and while the monkeys were flouncing

I know it is still there, hiding its secret beneath those long, red leaves, but it wouldn't be hidden from me for part of my life is buried there, too.

Yes, I know it is still there, for in my heart I believe the legend of the sacred red fern.

The fishermen were wonderful, as true sportsmen are. They seemed to sense the urgency in my voice and always bought my wares. However, many was the time I'd find my vegetables left in the abandoned camp.

I know it is still there, hiding its secret beneath those long, red leaves, but it woukdn't be hidden from me for part of my life is buried there, too.

I'll always remember this as the summer of the monkeys.

I heard the "bam, bam, bam" of a woodpecker high in the top of a box elder snag. The cry of a kingfisher and the scream of a blue jay blended perfectly with the drum like beat. A barking red squirrel, glued to the side of a hackberry tree, kept time to the music with the beat of his tail. Each noise I heard and each sight I saw was very familiar to me but I never grew tired of listening and watching. They were a God-sent gift and I enjoyed them all.

Where the Red Fern Grows taps into the wellspring that runs deep in all of us as we fall in step with a boy and his dogs and, piece by piece, our own stories unfold.

About halfway up, far out on a limb, I found the ghost coon. As I started toward him, my dogs stopped bawling. I heard something I had heard many times. The sound was like the cry of a small baby. It was the cry of a ringtail coon when he knows it is the end of the trail. I never liked to hear this cry, but it was all in the game, the hunter and the hunted. As I sat there on the limb, looking at the old fellow, he cried again. Something came over me. I didn't want to kill him.

Wilson Rawls

as I sat there on the limb looking at the old fellow he cried again something came over me I dint want to kill him I hollered down at Rubin I don't kill want to kill the ghost coon.

I remembered something my grandfather had told me. He said, "Never underestimate the cunning of an old river coon. When the nights are dark and the ground is frozen and slick, they can pull some mean tricks on a hound. Sometimes the tricks can be fatal.

As I come through the garden, Suddenly all birds seem to cease their singing: The tight-curled buds like birds on the branches swinging Silently shrink and harden On the naked trees that were once green fountains springing. And you are not there, not there, not there, Your laughing face and your windblown hair Leave not even a ghost in the garden.

The Sun will not rise or set without my notice and thanks.

Look at nature, work independently, and solve your own problems.

Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong.

When eagles are silent, parrots begin to chatter.

Go out into the sunlight and be happy with what you see.

I know why logs spit. I know what it is to be consumed

Whatever she suffered, whatever loss came to her, she would throw it off, for it was not in her nature to go under. Although she was the woman and he a fierce and sometimes arrogant man, hers was the stronger nature because the more pliant.

Ross took a deep breath of the air, which was heavy with the smell of sea. He fancied he could hear the waves breaking.

An hour before dawn they went down to the cove, following the bubble of the stream and the descending combe, with a glowworm here and there green-lit like a jewel in the dark.

I'm afraid they would droop. See, they're drooping already. Bluebells are like that.