Quotes About Nature

What is it like to feel Tao? It is an effortless flowing, a sweeping momentum.

Life is a constant series of opportunities. If we don't reach out for things, if we don't take advantage of what comes our way, then we cannot be in harmony with the essential nature of life.

Turn your face to the sun, as flowers know how to do.

The primary point of this existence is to live, and all living things move and grow. Therefore meditation should be integrated with the flow of life. It should not dominate above all else.

So you do healing?" "Of course. What do you think witches do? As I said, we heal, cast spells, tell fortunes, connect with nature. We celebrate life . . . and of course death as well, the other side of the coin." She downed more wine, then added, "We're women of power and we'll make you one too." Women

There is always Music amongst the trees in the Garden, but our hearts must be very quiet to hear it.

In some movies you feel like you're a very small part of a huge machine. Whereas in the theater you can have a very small part, but you can still feel the weight and the gravity of it. Given the nature of theater, it's a more concentrated and quiet experience.

Vinc d'un estiu amb massa pluges, però duc foc a l'arrell de les ungles

I don't want to be the person who gasps in fear whenever she hears the sound of a doorbell or a phone. I just want to lose myself in these hills, in the river winding west to the city of bridges.

He heard someone playing an Andalusian guitar, the drumming of a thousand bat wings inside a dark cave. He heard an ancient lyre, the leaf of autumn falling to the ground, someone whispering "I love you". He heard the sound of winf, a beating heart, and a mother saying good night to her child.

There can be no other occupation like gardening in which, if you were to creep up behind someone at their work, you would find them smiling.

I'm not a garden expert in any sense of the meaning, only someone who blunders about in the shrubbery.

When you can see the beauty of a tree, then you will know what love is.

It was a real whale, a photograph of a real whale. I looked into its tiny wise eye and wondered where that eye was now. Was it alive and swimming, or had it died long ago, or was it dying now, right this second? When a whale dies, it falls down through the ocean slowly, over the course of a day. All the other fish see it fall, like a giant statue, like a building, but slowly, slowly.

Try not to base your decision on this room, it isn't representative of the whole world. Somewhere the sun is hot on a rubbery leaf, clouds are making shapes and reshaping and reshaping, a spiderweb is broken but still works.

What was the lifespan of these improbable loves? An hour. A week. A few months at best. The end was a natural thing, like the seasons, like getting older, fruit turning. That was the saddest part—there was no one to blame and no way to reverse

I'll be the first to say, It's so beautiful here. The sooner you say, It's so beautiful here, the quicker you can say, Wow, I'm getting overheated.

I got stuck up a tree when I was about seven, and my dad had to come and get the ladder to get me down. I loved to climb all the way up to the top. I must have been a koala in my past life.

For years, I never knowingly went on a holiday. When I travelled, it was for work. Now I am a huge advocate, particularly to places which have amazing wildlife, such as Antarctica, India and Patagonia.

As watercourse is replaced by watercourse, So no river allows itself to be concealed. It breaks the channel in which it was hidden.

Lo, all beasts, their hearts weep.

Good nature is a man's heaven, The cursing of the [furious] is painful. If you are skilled in speech, you will win, The tongue is [a king's] sword; Speaking is stronger than all fighting, The skillful is not overcome.

Butterflies add another dimension to the garden, for they are like dream flowers - childhood dreams - which have broken loose from their stalks and escaped into the sunshine.

And when a poet dies, deep in the night a lone black bird wakes up in the thicket and sings for all it's worth — Miroslav Holub, from "Interferon," Poems Before and After (Bloodaxe Books, 2006)