Quotes About Nature

getting run up a tree by a bear was part of the adventure and the fun of Glacier Park;

A poet is not something you become; a poet is something you are.

There's a leaf clinging fast to a branch, though withered, it somehow holds on, and a single bird singing its song, though all of its kindred have gone. And as long as that little leaf stays, and as long as that stubborn bird sings, then autumn remains in the world, and winter must wait in the wings.

A snowflake fell into my hand, a tiny, fragile gem, a frosty crystal flowerlet with petals, but no stem. I wondered at the beauty of its intricate design, I breathed, the snowflake vanished, but for moments, it was mine.

Paul is not talking in Romans 1:26–27 about a violation of the order of creation. In Paul's vocabulary, physis (nature) is not a synonym for ktisis (creation). In speaking about what is "natural," Paul is merely accepting the conventional view of people and how they ought to behave in first-century Hellenistic-Jewish culture.

Shane was looking down the road and on to the open plain and the horse was obeying the silent command of the reins. He was riding away and I knew that no word or thought could hold him. The big horse, patient and powerful, was already settling into the steady pace that had brought him into our valley, and the two, the man and the horse, were a single dark shape in the road as they passed beyond the reach of the light from the windows

I'm really a-howling!

ANY FOOL CAN GET INTO AN OCEAN BUT IT TAKES A GODDESS TO GET OUT OF ONE.

Once a year, lock your office door and leave for a "think week"—ideally to a remote location with ample exposure to Mother Nature—and ruminate about the "day after tomorrow.

Light slanting down across Alode the Cliff illuminated a hundred forests; the irradiated foliage seemed to glow with internal light: bitter lime, intense gray-blue given pointillist fire by scarlet seed-pots, dark umber, black-blue, black-green

He admonished them never to think of themselves as the strongest or smartest. Even the highest mountain had animals that step on it, he warned. When the animals climb to the top of the mountain, they are even higher than it is.

And there would come up from the sea its voice; and the sea has no voice, but mysteriously touches the strings within the soul of a man, so that the soul speaks in its own way, each soul lifting its peculiar message.

Romulus and Remus, twin sons of dark Mars and a human vestal, sucking at the dugs of a wolf bitch.

Inevitably they find their way into the forest. It is there that they lose and find themselves. It is there that they gain a sense of what is to be done. The forest is always large, immense, great and mysterious. No one ever gains power over the forest, but the forest posses the power to change lives and alter destinies.

Morning: Slept. Afternoon: Slept. Evening: Ate grass. Night: Ate grass. Decided grass is boring. Scratched. Hard to reach the itchy bits. Slept.

Have you noticed how every tree is different here? All twisted by the wind and snow, but if that was all, they should have been twisted in the same way. It's as though every tree has made up its own mind exactly how it wants to grow.

Dad called this the shadow time. The sun sucks colour from the world, he'd said. He'd taught her to see the softer colours of the dusk, the green and orange bark, the purple shadows. At times like this Flinty felt her edges vanish, leaving her part of the mountains, like the wallaby pulling wonga vine down from a thorn bush, or the sleepy possum peering from a tree.

Maybe everyone is crazy up in these mountains. Maybe the air up here makes you absurd, the scent of flowers and rock and snow. And I've never spoken like that to anyone in my life before. You're my only friend here, you know that? And you're fifty years away.

Jackie French

Weather here in this part of the world is just as moody, just as subjective and disloyal, as people.

Wild dreaming is what they desire most. Dreams that hold the scent of deep green moss, lichen, the place where the roots of a tree enter the earth, old stone, the dust of a moth's wings.

In the beginning of time people and animals lived together on the earth and there was no difference between them. Bear, human, raven, fox, even snow and ice, all had spirit, all had soul. The air was pure and clear as crystal. Words held a magic. A word spoken in a chance, a wish or a whisper would hold a magic that would shape the world.

In summer heat he longed for her. When leaves turned, green to gold, he watched for her. As winter came, on feathered backs of redwing, fieldfare, and threaded through the call of curlew, he waited for her.

He gave her gifts: a crown of ice, woven with berries, feathers, and the light of love in his wild fox eyes.