Quotes About Nature

He wrote: Dear ollever; yor ol twinkk has dun gode up the rivver. im gladd. yor friend jody.

He had perhaps been bruised too often. The peace of the vast aloof scrub had drawn him with the beneficence of its silence. Something in him was raw and tender. The touch of men was hurtful upon it, but the touch of pines was healing.

Penny's bowels yearned over his son. He gave him something more that his paternity. He found that the child stood wide-eyed and breathless before the miracle of bird and creature, of flower and tree, of wind and rain and sun and moon, as he had always stood. And if, on a soft day in April, the boy had prowled away on his boy's business, he could understand the thing that had drawn him. He understood, too, its briefness.

Grandma Hutto's flower garden was a bright patchwork quilt thrown down inside the pickets.

I'll walk off the rest of my mad.

The moon rose in the east and that was moon-rise. Six hours later it hung at its zenith between east and west, and that was south-moon-over. It set in the west and that was moon-down. Then it passed from sight and swung under the earth, between west and east. And when it was directly under the earth, that was south-moon-under.

He could understand that the creatures, the fish and the owls, should feed and frolic at moon-rise, at moon-down and at south-moon-over, for these were all plain marks to go by, direct and visible. He marvelled, padding on bare feet past the slat-fence of the clearing, that the moon was so strong that when it lay the other side of the earth, the creatures felt it and stirred by the hour it struck. The moon was far away, unseen, and it had power to move them.

In the beginning of his sleep, he cried out, "Flag!" It was not his own voice that called. It was a boy's voice. Somewhere beyond the sink-hole, past the magnolia, under the live oaks, a boy and a yearling ran side by side, and were gone forever.

Doc said, 'That's man-nature, Ma'am. Three things bring a man home again—his bed, his woman, and his dinner.

Somewhere beyond the sink-hole, past the magnolia, under the live oaks, a boy and a yearling ran side by side, and were gone forever.

We cannot live without the Earth or apart from it, and something is shrivelled in a man's heart when he turns away from it and concerns himself only with the affairs of men

We were bred of earth before we were bred of our mothers. Once born, we can live without mother or father, or any other kin, or any friend, or any human love. We cannot live without the earth or apart from it, and something is shrivelled in a man's heart when he turns away from it and concerns himself only with the affairs of men.

He watched the sun rise beyond the grape arbor. In the thin golden light the young leaves and tendrils of the Scuppernong were like Twink Weatherby's hair. He decided that sunrise and sunset both gave him a pleasantly sad feeling. The sunrise brought a wild, free sadness; the sunset, a lonely yet a comforting one. He indulged his agreeable melancholy until the earth under him turned from gray to lavender and then to the color dried corn husks.

He was addled with April. He was dizzy with Spring. He was as drunk as Lem Forrester on a Saturday night.

The wild animals seemed less predatory to him than people he had known.

It seems to me that the earth may be borrowed but not bought. It may be used, but not owned. ... We are tenants and not possessors, lovers and not masters.

You kin tame arything, son, excusin' the human tongue.

Mother Wolf, you called yourself. What does a wolf teach her pups but teeth and hunger? You didn't make me in your image. You made me into something worse. I have to know what that is.

Mother Wolf, you called yourself. What does a wolf teach her pups but teeth and hunger? You didn't make me in your image. You made me into something worse.

What does a wolf teach her pups but teeth and hunger? You didn't make me in your image. You made me into something worse.

The miracle of the light pours over the green and brown expanse of saw grass and of water, shining and slow-moving below, the grass and water that is the meaning and the central fact of the Everglades of Florida. It is a river of grass.

There are no other Everglades in the world…. The miracle of the light pours over the green and brown expanse of saw grass and of water, shining and slow-moving below, the grass and water that is the meaning of the central fact of the Everglades of Florida. It is a river of grass.

The little house in Riverside... didn't really matter. I saw at once that houses in general didn't really matter. You didn't live in the house, you lived on the porch, you lived in the outdoors with the lovely air blowing in all the windows. The houses were not impressive and the town was not impressive, but the people were impressive.

The Gospel of John tells us that the Word who was made flesh and dwelt among us, full of glorious grace and truth, was also the Word through whom all things- all phenomena in nature, all capacities for fruitful interaction, all the kinds of beauty- were made. To honor that Word as he deserves to be honored,evangelicals must know both Christ and what he has made.