Quotes About Nature

For any writer who wants to keep a journal, be alive to everything, not just to what you're feeling, but also to your pets, to flowers, to what you're reading.

I think of the trees and how simply they let go, let fall the riches of a season, how without grief (it seems) they can let go and go deep into their roots for renewal and sleep ... Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass.

Body my housemy horse my houndwhat will I dowhen you are fallenQuestion [1954], st. 1

Body my house my horse my hound What will I do when you are fallen Where will I sleep How will I ride What will I hunt Where can I go without my mount all eager and quick How will I know in thicket ahead is danger or treasure When Body my good bright dog is dead How will it be to lie in the sky without roof or door and wind for an eye with cloud for a shift how will I hide?

October I sit with braided fingers and closed eyes in a span of late sunlight. The spokes are closing. It is fall: warm milk of light, though from an aging breast. I do not mean to pray. The posture for thanks or supplication is the same as for weariness or relief. But I am glad for the luck of light. Surely it is godly, that it makes all things begin, and appear, and become actual to each other. Light that's sucked into the eye, warming the brain with wires of color.

Nature has no mercy at all. Nature says, "I'm going to snow. If you have on a bikini and no snowshoes, that's tough. I am going to snow anyway."

I started studying what the nature of a monument is and what a monument should be. And for the World War III memorial I designed a futile, almost terrifying passage that ends nowhere.

There is an innate innocence in the concious Vata personality. A delicate, sensitive, and aware nature reveals the graceful Vata component of any type.

you are best if you have unconditional support and nature . like me..."

Prescott National Forest is right on the edge of my home in Arizona.

Nature cares only that you reproduce and rear the kids. After you've done that, get out of the way.

Zar smo svi zli? — Svi. Neko manje, neko više. Ali svi.

Rat je surova ali poštena borba, kao me?u životinjama. Život u miru je surova borba, ali nepoštena, kao me?u ljudima. Razlika je ogromna.

Ljudi su zla djeca. Zla po ?inu,djeca po pameti. I nikada ne?e biti druga?iji.

Želim da me zvižduk vjetra zagluši, da zasvira kroz mene kao kroz trsku, mislim, kako bi bilo lijepo ne misliti, mislim: kako bi lijepo bilo na?i se sad na rijeci, šiban olujom, u ribarskoj barci ili u štrkljastoj drvenoj ku?ici na obali rijeke, okružen divljom stihijom, sam s njom, bez tuge u sebi i oko sebe. Ali to je samo trenutna želja, davnašnja potreba za bijegom i za odvajanjem od tereta u sebi, neostvariva ?ežnja za tišinama.

What is the devotion if there is no temptation which is master on their own? The man is not God and his strength is just in that to suppress its nature, if there is nothing to suppress what's the difference?

Bilo mi je lijepo, bio sam gotovo sre?an. Zurio sam u blistavu vodu, satima, i puštao da mi preko ruke prelazi obli talasi?, dragaju?i me, kao da je živ stvor. I to je bilo sve što sam htio, sve što sam želio.

Griješne misli su kao vjetar ko ce ih zaustaviti U cemu je pobožnost ako nema iskušenja koja se savladavaju ?ovjek nije Bog i njegova snaga je baš u tome da suzbija svoju prirodu.

What is the purpose of piety if there are no temptations to resist? Man is not God, his strength is the ability to restrain his own nature, so I thought, and if he has nothing to restrain, then what are his merits?

Pravi muškarac je kao vuk. Ili je samotnjak ili je ve?no sa jednom vu?icom. Jurnjavu za ovcama ionako obavlja ovan.

Ljudi su zla djeca, zla po ?inu, djeca po pameti. I nikad ne?e biti druk?iji.

This solitude hurt pleasantly; it made me sorry, but I would not have traded it for anything. The ground smelled of the warm moisture of spring. Turtledoves landed in the poplars, pigeons were bathing in the shallow water, ruffling their feathers, splashing red and green droplets all around. A cowbell rang sluggishly somewhere in the distance. A familiar place, familiar colours, familiar sounds. I looked around: it was mine. I smelled the air: it was mine. I listened: it was mine.

Just the gardener….

Trees have no elsewhere.