Quotes About Nature

Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer. It does come. But it comes only to the patient, who are there as though eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly still and wide. I learn it daily, learn it with pain to which I am grateful: patience is everything!

Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore/Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time/will stay up, read, write long letters/and wander the avenues, up and down/restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.

The leaves fall, fall as from far, Like distant gardens withered in the heavens; They fall with slow and lingering descent. And in the nights the heavy Earth, too, falls From out the stars into the Solitude. Thus all doth fall. This hand of mine must fall And lo! the other one:—it is the law. But there is One who holds this falling Infinitely softly in His hands. - Autumn

But nature, exhausted, takes lovers back into herself as if she couldn't accomplish that kind of vitality twice.

Death is our friend precisely because it brings us into absolute and passionate presence with all that is here, that is natural, that is love. Death stands before eternity and says YES.

Forest! They seek your trees to sleep among, With their long sentences hung. Forest!

We become so accustomed to you, we no longer look up when your shadow falls over the book we are reading and makes it glow. For all things sing you: at times we just hear them more clearly. Often when I imagine you your wholeness cascades into many shapes. You run like a herd of luminous deer and I am dark, I am forest.

Like the curved pipe of a fountain, your arching boughs drive the sap downward and up again: and almost without awakening it bursts out of sleep, into its sweetest achievement. Like the god stepping into the swan.

En une seule fleur Enchantée de cet artifice, ton abondance l'avait osé. Tu étais assez riche, pour devenir cent fois toi-même en une seule fleur; c'est l'état de celui qui aime Mais tu n'as pas pensé ailleurs.

Whether it be the singing of a lamp or the voice of a storm, whether it be the breath of an evening or the groan of the ocean — whatever surrounds you, a broad melody always wakes behind you, woven out of a thousand voices, where there is room for your own solo only here and there. To know when you need to join in: that is the secret of your solitude: just as the art of true interactions with others is to let yourself fall away from high words into a single common melody.

I'm still alive, I have time to build My blood will outlast the rose.

The trees which you planted as a child Have long since grown too heavy; you do not deceive them. But the winds ... but the spaces ... Raise no monument. For it is the roses Which salute Him year by year with their petals. This, you see, is Orpheus

Earth, my dearest, I will. Oh believe me, you no longer need your springtimes to win me over - one of them, ah, even one, is already too much for my blood. Unspeakably I have belonged to you, from the first.

No, we don't accomplish our love in a single year as the flowers do; an immemorial sap flows up through our arms when we love. (Siehe, wir lieben nicht, wie die Blumen, aus einem einzigen Jahr; uns steigt, wo wir lieben, unvordenklicher Saft in die Arme.)

Take the destiny upon yourself, and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking what reward might come from outside. For the creator must be a world for himself and must find everything in himself and in Nature, to whom his whole life is devoted.

O tempo não é uma medida. Um ano não conta, dez anos não representam nada. Ser artista não significa contar, é crescer como a árvore que não apressa a sua seiva e resiste, serena, aos grandes ventos da primavera, sem temer que o verão possa não vir. O verão há de vir. Mas só vem para aqueles que sabem esperar, tão sossegados como se tivessem na frente a eternidade.

Moving Forward The deep parts of my life pour onward, as if the river shores were opening out. It seems that things are more like me now, that I can see farther into paintings. I feel closer to what language can't reach. With my sense, as with birds, I climb into the windy heaven, out of the oak, and in the ponds broken off from the sky my feeling sinks, as if standing on fishes.

For the creator must be a world for himself, and find everything within himself, and in Nature to which he has attached himself.

La rose complète J'ai une telle conscience de ton être, rose complète, que mon consentement te confond avec mon cÅ"ur en fête. Je te respire comme si tu étais, rose, toute la vie, et je me sens l'ami parfait d'une telle amie.

like a tree which does not hurry the flow of its sap and stands at ease in the spring gales without fearing that no summer may follow.

Though he works and worries, the farmer never reaches down to where the seed turns into summer. The earth grants.

Une rose seule, c'est toutes les roses et celle-ci: l'irremplaçable, le parfait, le souple vocable encadré par le texte des choses. Comment jamais dire sans elle ce que furent nos espérances, et les tendres intermittences, dans la partance continuelle.

À travers nous s'envolent Les oiseaux en silence. O, moi qui veux grandir Je regarde au dehors, et l'arbre en moi grandit.

Ne parlons pas de toi. Tu es ineffable selon ta nature. D'autres fleurs ornent la table que tu transfigures. On te met dans un simple vase -, voici que tout change: c'est peut-être la même phrase, mais chantée par un ange.