Quotes About Nature

When I go down by the sandy shore I can think of nothing I want more Than to live by the booming sea As the seagulls flutter round about me I can run about--when the tide is out With the wind and the sand and the sea all about And the seagulls are swirling and diving for fish Oh-to live by the sea is my only wish.

Why is there ever this perverse cruelty in humankind, that makes us hurt most those we love best?

Even a stunted tree reaches for sunlight.

It was a gorgeous end-of-summer-just-starting-to-befall day. The trees swayed in the breeze. The sky was the color of cornflowers.

a gorgeous end-of-summer-just-starting-to-be-fall day. The trees swayed in the breeze. The sky was the color of cornflowers

was low in the sky, and the woods seemed to be sprouting strange

Beauty reflected in a pool may be a little blurred, but it can be as beautiful in its own way as the original.

Do you know how many species will be made extinct by these games?' he demanded furiously. 'Good grief, what is it about you humans? You think you're the only thing on this planet that's worth anything, that you can ravage nature just to show your superiority. Can you even comprehend a fraction of what's being done here?' Then he calmed down just as quickly, became sorrowful instead of angry. 'No. you probably can't. And I expect you wouldn't care if you could.

The best remedy for a short temper is a long walk.

But in this life, he is dog. His life is ocean, stick, ball, sand, grass, ride in the truck, sleep by the bed, look deep into the eyes of humans, lure them outdoors, greet them with a burst of joy when they come home, love them. Fill this brief life with more. And more.

But in this life, he is dog. His life is ocean, stick, ball, sand, grass, ride in the truck, sleep by the bed, look deep into the eyes of humans, lure them outdoors, greet them with a burst of joy when they come home, love them. Fill this brief life with more. And more. A+ AUTHOR INSIGHTS, EXTRAS, & MORE… FROM

When we were entirely alone in this lush green world, Morgan pulled me gently to him, tipped up my chin and kissed me on the lips. He kissed me, he kissed me, he kissed me . . .

This earth is seventy percent water. Hard not to walk into it.

If you come as softly as the wind within the trees. You may hear what I hear. See what sorrow sees. If you come as lightly as threading dew, I will take you gladly, nor ask more of you.

So this is what he believes in your hands in the cool dirt until the earth gives back to you all that you've asked of it.

At night, every living thing competes for a chance to be heard. The crickets and frogs call out. Sometimes, there's the soft who-whoo of an owl lost amid the pines. Even the dogs won't rest until they've howled at the moon. But the crickets always win, long after the frogs stop croaking and the owl has found its way home. Long after the dogs have lain down losing the battle against sleep, the crickets keep going as though they know their song is our lullaby.

But once, a cardinal alighted on the kitchen windowsill and he found himself squinting long after it had flown away again, trying hard to hold on to its beauty.

And I can't help thinking of the birds here—how they disappear in the wintertime, heading south for food and warmth and shelter. Heading south to stay alive . . . passing us on the way

When Daddy's garden is ready it is filled with words that make me laugh when I say them- pole beans and tomatoes , okra and corn sweet peas and sugar snaps , lettuce and squash . Who could have imagined so much color that the ground disappears and we are left walking through an autumn's worth or crazy words that beneath the magic of my grandmother's hands become side dishes.

Our land moved in grassy waves toward the water. The land ended at the water. Maybe my mother had forgotten this. And kept on walking.

In Tennessee, honeysuckle vines bloomed thick and full in our yard every summer. My brother and I ran out in the early hours, barefooted and still in pajamas to suck the sweetness from the bright flowers. It was never enough. That faint hint of honeysuckle on the tongue an almost broken promise of something better hidden somewhere deeper.

I think of it..." Jeremiah said slowly. "Like weather or something. You got your rain, your snow, your sunshine. Always changing but still constant, you know?"... "So it's not always raining, is it? But when it's not raining, we know the rain isn't gone forever.

All of that savage power hidden under so much civility.

Man was made of a little mud and water. Could not a woman be made of dew, earthen mists and beams of light, condensed remnants of a rainbow?