Quotes About Nature

In the fields, cattle, memories dissolved by so many liquid mornings, noons and nights, had forgotten they dreamed of April grass and, by a clemency reserved for those who live placid in a perpetual now, standing in a green sweetness forgot the cold muck-grazing of February. On

Somehow the river is louder when you cover your ears.

It was where, when darkness fell, it fell absolutely, and when you went outside the wind sometimes drew apart the clouds and you stood in the revelation of so many stars you could not credit the wonder and felt smaller in body as your soul felt enormous.

With all the homeless folk in SF, the fact that these woods remain unmolested is sort of a mystery.

Piénsalo bien y reconoce que no hay amigo como el árbol, adonde quiera que te vuelvas siempre lo encuentras a tu lado, vayas pisando tierra firme o móvil mar alborotado, estés meciéndote en la cuna o bien un día agonizando, más fiel que el vidrio del espejo y más sumiso que un esclavo.

En toch dwaalde ze al die tijd in gedachten door de kathedralen van het bos, in die nog altijd witte wereld waar de uilen krasten in het donker en een vriend op sterven lag.

Je moet begrijpen dat mensen niet gemaakt zijn om zichzelf toon te stellen, maar om een ruimte te vinden waarin ze in harmonie met de hemel en de aarde kunnen leven.

The Lord of the worms comes and goes.

The people resemble a wild beast, which, naturally fierce and accustomed to live in the woods, has been brought up, as it were, in a prison and in servitude, and having by accident got its liberty, not being accustomed to search for its food, and not knowing where to conceal itself, easily becomes the prey of the first who seeks to incarcerate it again.

I själva verket är det så att den individuella lyckan verkar vara starkt genetiskt betingad, precis som alla andra personlighetsdrag.

He found it hard to understand that the sea was a law unto itself, beyond anyone's control.

He was the chief of all the horses; and when he snorted, it was a flash of lightning and his eyes were like the sunset star.

All around the circle, feeding on the green, green grass were fat and happy horses...

My bay had lightning stripes all over him and his mane was cloud. And when I breathed, my breath was lightning.

And as I looked ahead, the people changed into elks and bison and all four-footed beings and even into fowls, all walking in a sacred manner on the good red road together.

And as he spoke of understanding, I looked up and saw the rainbow leap with flames of many colors over me.

It is the story of all life that is holy and is good to tell, and of us two-leggeds sharing in it with the four-leggeds and the wings of the air and all green things; for these are children of one mother and their father is one Spirit.

A series of psychological studies over the past twenty years has revealed that after spending time in a quiet rural setting, close to nature, people exhibit greater attentiveness, stronger memory, and generally improved cognition. Their brains become both calmer and sharper.

Technology isn't what makes us "post-human" or "transhuman," as some writers and scholars have recently suggested. It's what makes us human. Technology is in our nature. Through our tools we give our dreams form. We bring them into the world. The practicality of technology may distinguish it from art, but both spring from a similar, distinctly human yearning.

Through our tools, we seek to expand our power and control over our circumstances—over nature, over time and distance, over one another.

There needs to be time for efficient data collection and time for inefficient contemplation, time to operate the machine and time to sit idly in the garden.

Between the intellectual and behavioral guardrails set by our genetic code, the

where we are free of our labors and joined back to nature… and all watched over by machines of loving grace. That

What makes one tool superior to another has nothing to do with how new it is. What matters is how it enlarges or diminishes us, how, how it shapes our experience of nature and culture and one another. To cede choices about the texture of our daily lives to a grand abstraction called progress is folly.