Quotes About Nature

They Can Bury Us Deep, But We Always Grow Back." — Poison Ivy

Even the mantis has stopped praying

Life was far more interesting when we had natural rhythms rather than algorithms

The world and its institutions engulf and suffocate us. We runners find our sanctuary in retreating to the roadways and trails, our sacred reprieve. The wonder isn't that we go; it's that we come back.

near Staten Island

while we were in inhabited country every Bedu for miles around would come to feed at our expense. It would be impossible to refuse them food: in the desert one may never turn a guest away, however unwanted he may be. T.E. Lawrence observed that 'the desert was held in a crazed communism by which Nature and the elements were for the free use of every known friendly person for his own purposes and no more.

Even as a child, she had preferred night to day, had enjoyed sitting out in the yard after sunset, under the star-speckled sky listening to frogs and crickets. Darkness soothed. It softened the sharp edges of the world, toned down the too-harsh colors. With the coming of twilight, the sky seemed to recede; the universe expanded. The night was bigger than the day, and in its realm, life seemed to have more possibilities.

May the road rise to meet you, may the wind be always at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face and the rains fall softly upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of his hand." Afterward

Should I be in distress? In a meadow? You mean if the cows organize some sort of attack? I have extensive experience with cows. They almost never do that." "Forget

I think people are much the same wherever you go. Some of them good, some of them clever, and some of them with the devil in them.

When the light has fled but the stars have not yet shown themselves. That is the gloaming, the loveliest and saddest hour of the day.

Aunt Nell used to say it was not decent to have violet eyes, that they were a telltale sign of bad nature, like ginger hair or a hunchback.

Second rule of the bush. Never get too close to anything that has offspring. What's the first rule? Food runs. If you don't want to be food, don't run.

The men stood back, chanting a song of one who would not be forgotten, of loved ones lost and returned to the earth, and of the land itself which does not die but is always born anew with each fall of the long rains. They chanted of life, which is short as a spear of summer grass or long as the heart of the Rift itself, and of the silent land that waits beyond.

The female of the species is just as prey to the passions of the flesh as the male, and with greater cause, as it is her responsibility to propagate

We are mere humans, Veronica. We are destined to prefer beauty to ugliness." His

He nodded. "Of course, the male is so dominant and attractive." "That is not the male," I corrected. "The male eclectus is green, the color of his surroundings, meant to blend in and go unnoticed. It is the female which boasts the glorious scarlet plumage. You, my dear general, have made the very common mistake of believing, as so many others do, that the male of the species is the default.

Ah, do not mistake solitude for loneliness," he advised. "A man may be lonely in a crowd, or he can be quite content in the society of the natural world.

the rustle of yellow skirts and the scent of lemon verbena.

For all the glories I have seen, the mountains and the seas and the horizon itself, stretching to the furthest reaches of the eye, there is nothing to touch an English morning in spring.

That's the trouble with women," she said. "We know what we oughtn't do, and yet we do it anyway. Nature has given us instincts, but when a man comes along, we hear only his voice, and not our own

The wind rose here, as plangent as a human voice crying out.

He returned the smile and extended his arm. I slipped mine through his and we walked on in the warm sunshine, the smell of jasmine faint on the air as somewhere behind us trailed a ghost who whispered poetry in my ear and teased a breeze to touch my cheek.

There are no words to touch it for conjuring. It is the beginning of blooming roses and ripening corn, of days that stretch on, reaching for midnight until the spangled blue velvet of night descends and beginning again before cockcrow, when the dew jewels the grass like diamonds scattered while the earth slumbers.