Quotes About Nature

Learn from me, if not by my precepts, then by my example, how dangerous is the pursuit of knowledge and how much happier is that man who believes his native town to be the world than he who aspires to be greater than his nature will allow.

As we continued walking and holding onto each other I noticed music playing between the snowflakes. Maybe the air had always had music in it, but I'd never heard it before.

We are, by our very human nature, limited in what we can know or do or control or change.

Sitting out there on the porch, I laughed. How funny—to think of us turning our clocks this way and that, importantly telling the sun when to rise and when to set, when we would prefer it to be light and when dark.

The earth we abuse and the living things we kill will, in the end, take their revenge; for in exploiting their presence we are diminishing our future.

The earth we abuse and the living things we kill, in the end, take their revenge; for in exploiting their presence we are diminishing our future.

This morning, when I got my mail there's concrete all over the ground cement, you know and these little clovers the little green clovers, like from St. Patrick's Day the plant were growing up out of the cement no dirt and no nothing and no rain and there they were, growing up out of the cement, and I was thinking "that's like me."

But it was Aldo's pen that became his most forceful tool. He started a newsletter for rangers called the Carson Pine Cone. Aldo used it to "scatter seeds of knowledge, encouragement, and enthusiasm." Most of the Pine Cone's articles, poems, jokes, editorials, and drawings were Aldo's own. His readers soon realized that the forest animals were as important to him as the trees. His goal was to bring back the "flavor of the wilds.

it is the desire of the gifted person to live authentically and not suppress the First Nature traits that produce what some consider aberrant behavior.

Sex is part of nature, I go with nature.

Weed Rises to his feet. "Nature," he says softly, "makes so many beautiful things. But I did not know until you that nature could make a girl so beautiful.

The plants themselves gave me a cure for that: They taught me to bury myself when I need to regain my strength. It is what they do—return to the ground, rest, and begin again.

even in her current nervous state Penelope recognized them as Mineola ferns, native to a long island whose name she could not quite recall" -Penelope

Weed, are you familiar with the work of Carl Linnaeus? His Systema Naturae describes a classification system for all growing things." Weed's eyes dart everywhere, probing every corner. "Unless he visited the madhouse, I never met him," he replies.

He fills my head with tales from the ancient forests, tales so old that the trees themselves call them legends. It is as if a veil has been lifted from my eyes, and the world I have lived in all my sixteen years is revealed to be something else entirely, something so marvelous I could never have imagined it.

If you want fresh ideas in your head, get some fresh mud on your boots.

Listen to the fleshbody," the dropwort retorts. "A mere seventeen turns of the seasons on this ancient earth of ours, and yet he dismisses us.

Most often they speak according to their kind – the deep rumble of oak, the whisper of the birch, or the singsong chant of the alder. The evergreen stands of pine have voices sharp as needles. But the forest can speak as one, when it must. When the trees so choose, they think with one mind. When there is danger, especially, they speak in one voice of a thousand echoes. I hate it when they do this. For the forest mind is always right, and will hear no argument.

Remember, Weed: The good of one tree is not important. The good of the forest is what matters.

One of my recent acquisitions. It is called a medicine bag, from one of the native tribes of North America. A fascinating people, highly skilled in the use of plants' power. They too understand nature's essence as divine. So much so that they do not think it is man's place to own the land at all. Imagine that – think of all the wars we would have missed!

Plants make the air! Do you understand what that means? Our food, our air, our very lives come from the plants. How could they not be of divine origin, of divine intelligence? How can we deny that, in some essential way, they are no less than you or I?

Moon, moon, moon. Night, no moon? Dark. Night, yes moon? Light! Yes, moon! Ahwooooo!

Apples, apples, apples." Cassiopeia sang along

Bubble apples, bubble apples!