Quotes About Nature

Like the expanse of space, the mind [in its intrinsic nature] transcends intellect. Let it remain in its relaxed nature, without directing or settling it, for mind without a manipulated focus represents Mah?mudr?; By deepening intimacy with it, one will attain supreme enlightenment.

Thus all apparent things that appear or exist are empty of any essence, and have only a conceptual or nominal identity. Not the slightest distinction exists between the designation and the nature of things that it symbolizes. For there is a constant coemergence, which cannot be realized by external means.

Earth, water, fire, air, and space are not distinct from the flavor of their innate coemergence. He who does not bifurcate nirv??a and sa?s?ra is stated to [adhere to] the abiding nature of all encompassing reality.

Space is designated as empty, yet its exact nature cannot be verbalized. Similarly the mind is designated as luminously clear, yet its exact nature is empty, with no ground for definition. Thus the self-nature of mind is and has been from the very beginning like that of space.

The primordial purity of mind is of the nature of space; There is nothing one can receive or reject.

To seek solitude like a wild animal. That is my only ambition.

Trees have no dogmas. Turnips are singularly broad-minded.

something that is in the very nature of nature-worship. We can already see men becoming unhealthy by the worship of health; becoming hateful by the worship of love; becoming paradoxically solemn and overstrained even by the idolatry of sport; and in some cases strangely morbid and infected with horrors by the perversion of a just sympathy with animals. . . . There

Chesterton says that thinking is the hardest work in the world. And hard work, he says, is repugnant to our nature.

Did you ever see an unhappy horse? Did you ever see bird that had the blues? One reason why birds and horses are not unhappy is because they are not trying to impress other birds and horses.

One reason why birds and horses are not unhappy is because they are not trying to impress other birds and horses.

Growing up, I've enjoyed hunting with my father.

Every plant is an individual. Wrong again. We are not individuals at all, we are all connected. We are individuals the way each blossom on an apple tree is an individual.

The wild gods live with the wild plants. Once, all of our gods were plants and animals. The allies are the ancient gods, their wisdom is the ancient substrate of our volition; they are the maternal transmitters of our vision and dreams. Anthropomorphic gods were the children of the plant gods. That is why destroying wild habitat is parricide, because the gods cannot live without their habitat, and it was the gods that made us, and gave us our culture.

The wild gods live with the wild plants. Once, all of our gods were plants and animals. The allies are the ancient gods, their wisdom is the ancient substrate of our volition; they are the maternal transmitters of our vision ans dreams. Anthropomorphic gods were the children of the plant gods. That is why destroying wild habitat is parricide, because the gods cannot live without their habitat, and it was the gods that made us, and gave us our culture.

We are friends, my dogs and I, in spite of evolutionary discontinuity and because of evolutionary continuity.

Abner is not far from any one of us. We share an Abner-nature that harbors sin's stupidity, perversity, and twistedness. Let Abner preach to you. Let him tell you that it is possible to know the truth but not embrace the truth, to quote the truth but not submit to the truth, to hold the truth and yet assault the truth. And so Abner joins all the other anti-christs who strut around and say, 'I will be king' (1 Kings 1:5).

Did you ever see an unhappy horse? Did you ever see a bird that had the blues? One reason why birds and hoses are not unhappy is because they are not trying to impress other birds and horses.

n honderd jaar gelede die Kaap

The sun in its slow descent filtered great cathedral-moats of gold through latticed boughs of pine and birch and maple. It was that time of day- or afternoon- when the forest's breath, sun-stunned, yearning for night, impalpably swoons to the slow pulsations of blood and time and silence.

How does a bird feel when it dies? A fish, a bug...the infinite worm? I think it weeps.

I jump to my feet in this dream within a dream. Although I am quite dry, I discover that the trees of the forest in which I have slept stand rooted in water. Beyond them, at the forest's edge, stretches a tarn. From the steely face of the tarn rises a mist, and there, where the mist swirls thickest, shimmering like a pale column risen from its depths, dripping tarn water and rotted rose petals, stands Gunther.

I miss the snow. I miss looking at it, walking in it, tasting it. I used to love those days when it was so cold everyone else would be tucked away inside trying to stay warm. I would be the only one out walking, so I could look across the fields and see miles of snow without a single footprint in it. It would be completely silent -- no cars, no birds singing, no doors slamming. Just silence and snow. God, I miss snow. The stars, the moon, the wind, and blankets of pure, pristine snow.

Can you believe it's been over seventeen years since I've touched snow? Since I've heard that soft, comforting sound it makes as it crunches beneath your boots? It won't be much longer. I can feel it in my bones. Soon I'll have snow again. I'll stand in it and look up at the stars until I can no longer feel my feet.