Quotes About Nature

The moon is always jealous of the heat of the day, just as the sun always longs for something dark and deep.

When all is said and done, the weather and love are the two elements about which one can never be sure.

The sky is already purple; the first few stars have appeared, suddenly, as if someone had thrown a handful of silver across the edge of the world.

Original sin is my only refuge, I was born bad and I never have recovered

Courage is not the towering oak That sees storms come and go It is the fragile blossom That opens in the snow.

There is nothing in the world more peaceful than apple-leaves with an early moon.

I like the beauty of being restored to myself, in the pollen light

I love that color of green, as dark as you can get. I want to be in a dark green place.

Fleeing through forest turning silver, in the primal moonlight smeared on us we ran like horses

We fled you others, corrupt compatriots, love without a bed, in the woods its dark arms.

A natureza do Sol em Áries é liderar e, em Leão, reger.

As mulheres têm um incrível acesso à força e à sabedoria naturais se deuxadas por conta própria.

May two fields be bridged by a stile And two hearts by the tilting footbridge of a glance

What I love is one foot in front of another. South-south-west and down the contours. I go slipping between Black Ridge and White Horse Hill into a bowl of the moor where echoes can't get out listen a lark spinning around one note splitting and mending it and I find you in the reeds, a trickle coming out of a bark, a foal of a river

or if I stand if I move one hand I hear the hiss of flowers closing their eyelids

the hour has not yet ended in which under a cloth of laurel I sat quite still.

and their hearts are already eroded and I too

I notice the fatigue of flowers weighed down by light

beautiful disused route to the sea fish path with nearly no fish in

the village is lost in its veils a few dreams lean over the lanes like nettles

living in the slippery maybe the last green places are you listening

and bodiless black lace woods in which one to another a songbird asks is it light is it light not quite

not many of us left not much movement in the blackening lanes among a few low trees little flocks of orchids in the ditches nobody cares

very nearly anonymous now having recently turned five thousand with the same wedge of yearning lodged in my chest as ever and getting accustomed to surviving like a bramble very good at growing anywhere you ought to praise me for this trailing bloom