Quotes About Nature

I heard you went to Ireland...I haven't seen it in many years. Is it still green then, and beautiful? Wet as a bath sponge and mud to the knees but, aye, it was green enough.

Don't move, Sassenach, Jamie's voice came softly, next to me. Just for a moment, mo duinne--be still. I obligingly froze, until he touched me on the shoulder. That's all right, Sassenach, he said, with a smile in his voice. It's only that ye looked so beautiful, wi' the fire on your face, and your hair waving in the wind. I wanted to remember it.

His own eyes were soft and dreamy, cloudy as a trout pool in the rain.

The mountains had their own time, and a wise man did not try to hurry them.

if ye bed wi' a vixen, ye must expect to get bit.

It was in a way a comforting idea; if there was all the time in the world, then the happenings of a given moment became less important. I could see, perhaps, how one could draw back a little, seek some respite in the contemplation of an endless Being, whatever one conceived its nature to be.

My first coherent thought was, "It's raining. This must be Scotland.

I wondered what sort of man - or woman, perhaps? - had lain here, leaving no more than an echo of their bones, so much more fragile than the enduring rocks that sheltered them.

the ancient savagery that men call motherhood, who mistake its tenderness for weakness.

Mama says the Beardsleys follow her around like dogs, but they don't. They follow her like tame wolves. I thought Ian said it wasn't possible to tame wolves. It isn't.

Not a hothouse flower, this daughter of Leoch, despite her surroundings.

Dawn was coming up in streaks and slashes over the foggy moor.

We dangled our feet in the water, moving from shade to sun and back to shade as we grew too warm, talking of this and that and not much of anything, both aware of each other's smallest movement, both content to wait until chance should bring us to that moment when a glance should linger, and a touch should signal more.

Maybe it was the result of gardening, that quiet sense of pleasure in touching growing things, the satisfaction of helping them thrive.

It was in a way a comforting idea; if there was all the time in the world, then the happening of a given moment became less important. I could see, perhaps, how one could draw back a little, seek some respite in the contemplation of an endless Being, whatever one conceived its nature to be.

He was generally aware that he had been blessed in her beauty; even in her usual homespun, knee-deep in mud from her garden, or stained and fierce with the blood of her calling, the curve of her bones spoke to his own marrow, and those whisky eyes could make him drunk with a glance. Besides, the mad collieshangie of her hair made him laugh.

I've yet to see the auld woman believes in witches, nor the young one, neither. It's men think there must be ill-wishes and magic in women, when it's only the natural way of the creatures.

Ä°nsan hayat?n ve sonsuz varl???n getirdiÄŸi bitmez düÅŸüncelere bazen ara vermek istiyordu, varl???n?n doÄŸas? nas?l planlanm?? olursa olsun, oradan kaçmak istiyordu.

He smelt strongly of woodsmoke, blood, and unwashed male, but the night chill bit through my thin dress and I was happy enough to lean back against him.

There was a curious peace in this day, a sense of things working quietly in their proper courses, nothing minding the upsets and turmoils of human concerns. Perhaps it was the peace that one always finds outdoors, far enough away from buildings and clatter. Maybe it was the result of gardening, that quiet sense of pleasure in touching growing things, the satisfaction of helping them thrive.

I found the rooted silence, rushing stream, and rustling leaves balm to the spirit.

Nothing moved on the surface but faint coruscations of starlight, caught like fireflies in a spider's web.

the greylag mate for life? If ye kill a grown goose, hunting, ye must always wait, for the mate will come to mourn. Then ye must try to kill the second, too, for otherwise it will grieve itself to death, calling through the skies for the lost one.

bees that hae honey in their mouths hae stings in their tails