Quotes About Nature

A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.

The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good.

... the spring, the summer, The chilling autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world By their increase, now knows not which is which.

When delicate and feeling souls are separated, there is not a feature in the sky, not a movement of the elements, not an aspiration of the breeze, but hints some cause for a lover's apprehension.

To be a well-flavored man is the gift of fortune, but to write or read comes by nature.

The royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea.

Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,Chief nourisher in life's feast.

Shall i compare thee to a summers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate

Our bodies are our gardens - our wills are our gardeners.

Daffodils,That come before the swallow dares, and takeThe winds of March with beauty.

Holla your name to the reverberate hills,And make the babbling gossip of the airCry out, "Olivia!"

The deep of night is crept upon our talk,And nature must obey necessity.

Farewell, my sister, fare thee well. The elements be kind to thee, and make Thy spirits all of comfort: fare thee well.

Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay,Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund dayStands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops.

Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish;A vapor sometime like a bear or lion,A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock,A forked mountain, or blue promontoryWith trees upon 't.

O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear.

The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,Sing all a green willow;Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,Sing willow, willow, willow.

Take but degree away, untune that string,And, hark! what discord follows; each thing meetsIn mere oppugnancy: the bounded watersShould lift their bosoms higher than the shores,And make a sop of all this solid globe.

A falcon, towering in her pride of place,Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance… and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.

And He that doth the ravens feed,Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,Be comfort to my age!

But, look, the morn in russet mantle clad,Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.

O thou weed!Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweetThat the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst ne'er been born.