Quotes About Nature

[W]inter tames man, woman and beast....

O tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide!

My nature is subdu'dTo what it works in, like the dyer's hand.

Lawn as white as driven snow.

Now o'er the one half-worldNature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuseThe curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebratesPale Hecate's offerings.

Come unto these yellow sands,And then take hands:Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd—The wild waves whist,—Foot it featly here and there.

If thou and nature can so gently part,The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,Which hurts, and is desir'd.

Adam was a gardener.

Things rank and gross in naturePossess it merely. That it should come to this!

What may this mean,That thou, dead corse, again in complete steelRevisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,Making night hideous; and we fools of natureSo horridly to shake our dispositionWith thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?

Nature does require Her time of preservation, which perforce I her frail son amongst my brethren mortal Must give my attendance to.

Sits the wind in that corner?

The memory be green.

When he is best, he is a little worse than a man, and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast.

The dreadful summit of the cliffThat beetles o'er his base into the sea.

In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.

More matter for a May morning.

That time of year thou mayst in me beholdWhen yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hangUpon those boughs which shake against the cold,Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?Thou art more lovely and more temperate:Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,And summer's lease hath all too short a date.

O! you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy; I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died.

He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones.

The isle is full of noises,Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.Sometimes a thousand twangling instrumentsWill hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices,That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep,Will make me sleep again.

Thou sure and firm-set earth,Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fearThe very stones prate of my whereabout.

To purge melancholy.