Quotes About Nature

The strangeness began as a prickling of my skin. First the quail went silent, then the dove. The leaves stilled, and the breeze died, and no animals moved in the brush. There was a quality to the silence like a held breath. Like the rabbit beneath the hawk's shadow. I could feel my pulse striking my skin.

Once when I was young, I asked what mortals looked like. My father said, "You may say that they are shaped like us, but only as the worm is shaped like the whale.

I planted my hands on his chest and shoved, as hard as I could. Our land was one of grass and wheat. Tumbles should not hurt. I am making excuses. It was also a land of rocks. His head thudded dully against stone, and I saw the surprised pop of his eyes. The ground around him began to bleed.

Tu m'as jeté en pâture aux corbeaux, mais il se trouve que je les préfère à toi.

Puoi usare una spada come un bastone da passeggio, tuttavia ciò non cambia la sua natura.

He smiled. "Now I know how to make you follow me everywhere." The sun sank below Pelion's ridges, and we were happy.

the sea was hidden by the house's curve, but we could both hear it, the distant hiss of waves against sand.

For three weeks the earth would paint herself in every color, burst every bud, unfurl each rioting petal. Then, the wild flush of her excitement spent, she would settle down to the steady work of summer. It was my favorite time of year.

Él se removía y el aire del interior de la tienda con él, impregnando el ambiente con su suave aroma a musgo. «Es esto lo que voy a echar de menos. Me mataré antes que perderlo», pensé, y luego me pregunté: «¿Cuánto tiempo tenemos?».

i did not mind anymore that i lost when we raced and i lost when we swam out to the rocks and i lost we tossed spears or skipped stones. for who can be ashamed to lose to such beauty? it was enough to watch him win, to see the soles of his feet flashing as they kciked up the sand, or the rise and fall of his shoulders as he pulled throuhg the salt. it was enough.

I had seen him in such moods. Every petty defect of the world enraged him, all the waste and stupidity and slowness of men, and all the irritants of nature too, biting flies and warping wood and the briars that ripped his cloak. When he had lived with me, I'd smoothed all those things away, wrapping him in my magic and divinity. Perhaps it was why he had been so happy. An idyll, I had called our time. Illusion might have been a better word.

i did not mind anymore that i lost when we raced and i lost when we swam out to the rocks and i lost when we tossed spears or skipped stones. for who can be ashamed to lose to such beauty? it was enough to watch him win, to see the soles of his feet flashing as they kciked up the sand, or the rise and fall of his shoulders as he pulled throuhg the salt. it was enough.

Iphigenia. A tripping name, the sound of goat hooves on rock, quick, lively, lovely.

There are no bargains between lions and men. I will kill you and eat you raw.

And their masts stood as tall as the trees they had been

Tampoco él sabía enfadarse conmigo. Éramos como un bosque mojado en el que no prendía el fuego.

The islands looked all the same to me--high cliffs bleached white, pebbled beaches that scratched the underside of our ships with their chalky fingernails.

He asked only for curiosity's sake, because it was his nature to seek out answers, to press others for their weaknesses.

He smelled like earth after rain.

I did not mind anymore that I lost when we raced and I lost when we swam out to the rocks and I lost when we tossed spears or skipped stones. For who can be ashamed to lose to such beauty?

Skops, Peleus took to calling me. Owl, for my big eyes.

hunched against the tearing contraction. I had the willow

I did not mind anymore that I lost when we raced and I lost when we swam out to the rocks and I lost when we tossed spears or skipped stones. For who can be ashamed to lose to such beauty? It was enough to watch him win, to see the soles of his feet flashing as they kicked up sand, or the rise and fall of his shoulders as he pulled through the salt. It was enough.

It was spring, and we were surrounded by the profusion of Anatolian fertility. For three weeks the earth would paint herself in every color, burst every bud, unfurl each rioting petal.