Quotes About Nature

En vérité, c'est si difficile d'entrer dans le monde adulte quand toutes les routes conduisent aux mêmes frontières, quand le ciel est si lointain, que les arbres n'ont plus d'yeux et que les majestueuses rivières sont recouvertes de plaques de ciment gris, que les animaux ne parlent plus et que les hommes eux-mêmes ont perdu leurs signes.»

Me preguntaba si aquella seguridad en sí mismos era algo que podía adquirirse o si, como los padres y la piel perfecta, era algo con lo que nacías.

If things got really bad at Grandpa's, I figured, my mother and I could live alongside Shelter Rock. We could sleep under the canopy and cook our meals over an open fire, and though it would be rough, how much rougher could it be?

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren land; long heath, broth furze, any thing.

And this, our life exempt from public haunts, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

Give me the fresh air, a beautiful partner, and a nice round of golf, and you can keep the fresh air and the round of golf.

Lazy people should observe a colony of ants and learn from their diligence. Prov. 6.7 No one is there to organize them or tell them what to do. They have no commander or ruler giving them daily orders.

Ever felt an angel's breath in the gentle breeze? A teardrop in the falling rain? Hear a whisper amongst the rustle of leaves? Or been kissed by a lone snowflake? Nature is an angel's favorite hiding place. -Terri Guillemets

Each day is an adventure in discovering the meaning of life. It is each little thing that you do that day - whether it be spending time with your friends, running in a cross-country meet or just simply staring at the crashing ocean- that holds the key to discovering the meaning of life. I would rather be out enjoying these things than pondering them. We may never really discover the meaning of life, but the knowledge we gain in our quest to discover it is truly more valuable.

The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man." —WILLIAM BLAKE, PROVERBS OF HELL

The "norm" for humanity is love. Brutality is an aberration. We are not sinners by nature. We learn to be bad. We are taught to stray from our good paths. We are made to be crazy by other people who are also crazy and who draw for us a map of the world which is ugly, negative, fearful, and crazy.

I can lose my hands, and still live. I can lose my legs and still live. I can lose my eyes and still live. I can lose my hair, eyebrows, nose, arms, and many other things and still live. But if I lose the air I die. If I lose the sun I die. If I lose the earth I die. If I lose the water I die. If I lose the plants and animals I die. All of these things are more a part of me, more essential to my every breath, than my so-called body. What is my real body?

WINSLOW HOMER

In one such painting, Shell Heap, sabal

recent. Like all of Homer's Homosassa paintings, Shell Heap conveys an intimate and vital connection linking humankind, nature, and history. I call this triad Homer's truth, and it lies at the heart of this book.

Why do you breathe, eat, sleep, make love, and reproduce your kind? Because it's your function, your reason for being. There's no other reason, and none needed.

The sunlight lying on an acre of farm land weighs several tons, believe it or not.

Well, don't fart or you'll scare the deer," he continued seriously. "They have very sensitive noses and ears.

About fifty yards ahead a white-tailed deer was slowly picking his way across the snow-covered rocks and roots. As soon as I saw him I knew instantly that I didn't want him to die. He was so beautiful and at ease in the woods. This was his home, not mine, and I suddenly felt like a killer who had broken into his house and was about to shoot him. I watched and held my breath.

Another thing I've been trying to do on my walks is to know what I'm looking at, when I'm looking at it. I want to be smart. When I walk down the sidewalk I see about a hundred different kinds of bugs and all I do is point at them like a caveman and say 'Ugh, look, a bug,' but I know each one of them must have a different name and a different reason why and how it came to be on the planet, and I don't know any of that stuff.

The woman is not just a pleasure, nor even a problem. She is a meniscus that allows the absolute to have a shape, that lets him skate however briefly on the mystery, her presence luminous on the ordinary and the grand. Like the odor at night in Pittsburgh's empty streets after summer rain on maples and sycamore.

When I was walking in the mountains with the Japanese man and began to hear the water, he said, 'What is the sound of the waterfall?' 'Silence,' he finally told me.

Michiko Nogami (1946—1982)" Is she more apparent because she is not anymore forever? Is her whiteness more white because she was the color of pale honey? A smokestack making the sky more visible. A dead woman filling the whole world. Michiko said, "The roses you gave me kept me awake with the sound of their petals falling.

So yes, this means dirt is good. Mud pies rule.