Quotes About Nature

He looked from His heavens and saw it was good, the toes and the crows all looked like they should. The bunny was quick, the finch bright as a daisy, the owl flew at night, and the tortoise was lazy.

She thought about the dolphins, the warm smells of the island, and the animals that lived there. She realized that all of this was what made the Chincoteague ponies special. It wasn't just that they were horses, although that in itself would have been enough. But the ponies were even more. They were the sun, the sand, the untamed beauty of nature, all rolled into one. And they were a legend in themselves.

A hard lesson had been learned--that man himself suffers most when his hand despoils the earth and robs it of its legitimate fruits.

A new respect for Nature had been learned, a new kinship with sun and water and soil....They had learned that while Nature is often beautiful and kind, her laws must be respected, for they are ruthless and inexorable as well. Man must accept these laws and adjust his way of living to them. Then only can he prosper.

Hunting hawks do not belong in cages, no matter how much a man covets their grace, no matter how golden the bars. They are far more beautiful soaring free. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

All true wealth is biological.

The aim of life was meat. Life itself was meat. Life lived on life. There were the eaters and the eaten.

One cannot violate the promptings of one's nature without having that nature recoil upon itself.

Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was the law; and this mandate, down out of the depths of Time.

The life that is demanding to be born is limitless. Nature is a spendthrift. Look at the fish and their millions of eggs. For that matter, look at you and me. In our loins are the possibilities of millions of lives. Could we but find time and opportunity and utilize the last bit and every bit of the unborn life that is in us, we could become the fathers of nations and populate continents.

I love the flesh. I'm a pagan. "Who are they who speak evil of the clay? The very stars are made of clay like mine!"

Love cannot in its very nature be peaceful or content. It is a restlessness, an unsatisfaction. I can grant a lasting love just as I can grant a lasting unsatisfaction; but the lasting love cannot be coupled with possession, for love is pain and desire and possession is easement and fulfilment.

Man is man because he chanced to develop intelligence instead of instinct; otherwise he would to this day have remained among the anthropoid apes. He has turned away from nature, become unnatural, as it were, disliked the earth upon which he found himself, and changed the face of it somewhat to his liking.

Life? Bah! It has no value. Of cheap things it is the cheapest. Everywhere it goes begging. Nature spills it out with a lavish hand. Where there is room for one life, she sows a thousand lives, and it's life eats life till the strongest and most piggish life is left.

I have seen the paintings from the air brushed by the hand of God.

When we live in cities at a fast pace, it is almost impossible not to get disconnected from the natural world. Food is one of the few things in our daily life that can help us strengthen that bond. Maybe we need to remind ourselves that coconut comes from a tree, not from little blue bags in the supermarket.

homage to glorious samantabhadra, the all-good to timeless buddhahood, basic total presence, to unchanging spontaneity, the spacious vajra-heart, to the nature of mind - natural perfection, constantly, simply being, we bow down.

The mind is stirred up by ideas, which are like chaff. It is agitated by distractions, which are like the gusting wind. Thus there is no access to this nature. But if you rest correctly in the pure accomplished mind Beyond arriving and departing, Whence there's nothing to remove, To which there's nothing to be added; If you rest in primal wisdom All-creating, free from stain, You will behold this nature as it is.

How absolute and omnipotent is the silence of the night! And yet the stillness seems almost audible. From all the measureless depths of air around us comes a half sound, a half whisper, as if we could hear the crumbling and falling away of the earth and all created things in the great miracle of nature?decay and reproduction?ever beginning, never ending?the gradual lapse and running of the sand in the great hour-glass of Time.

There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.

All nature ... is a respiration Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing hereafter Will inhale it into his bosom again, So that nothing but God alone will remain.

The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf.

For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining, is to let it rain.

Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.