Quotes About Nature

Da gibt es kein Messen mit der Zeit, da gilt kein Jahr, und zehn Jahre sind nichts, Künstler sein heißt: nicht rechnen und zählen; reifen wie der Baum, der seine Säfte nicht drängt und getrost in den Stürmen des Frühlings steht ohne die Angst, daß dahinter kein Sommer kommen könnte. [...] Geduld ist alles!

These things cannot be measured by time, a year has no meaning, and ten years are nothing. To be an artist means: not to calculate and count; to grow and ripen 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. It will come. But it comes only to those who

To be an artist means: not to reckon and count; to ripen like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of Spring without fear lest no Summer might come after.

In writing poetry, one is always aided and even carried away by the rhythm of exterior things: for the lyric cadence is that of nature: of the waters, the wind, the night. But to write rhythmic prose one must go deep into oneself and find the anonymous and multiple rhythm of the blood. Prose needs to be built like a cathedral: there one is truly without a name, without ambition, without help: on scaffoldings, alone with one's consciousness.

Not wooing, no longer shall wooing, voice that has outgrown it be the nature of your cry; but instead, you would cry out as purely as a bird when the quickly ascending season lifts him up, nearly forgetting that he is a suffering creature and not just a single heart being flung into brightness, into the intimate skies.

If you hold close to nature, to what is simple in it, to the small things people hardly see and which all of a sudden can become great and immeasurable; if you have this love for what is slight, and quite unassumingly, as a servant, seek to win the confidence of what seems poor – then everything will grow easier, more unified and somehow more conciliatory, not perhaps in the intellect, which, amazed, remains a step behind, but in your deepest consciousness, watchfulness and knowledge.

But everything that we encounter is so very much of one piece, and so intimately related to everything else, and has given birth to itself, grows, and is then raised so much to come into its own, that we basically just need to be there, if only unassumingly, if only authentically, the way the earth is there in its affirmation of the seasons, light and dark and wholly in space, longing to be supported by nothing but that web of influences and forces where the stars feel secure.

One has to be able at every moment to place one's hand on the earth like the first human being.

You run like a herd of luminous deer, and I am dark, I am forest.

ich kreise jahrtausendelang; und ich weiß noch nicht: bin ich ein Falke, ein Sturm

Then take your fate upon yourself and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking for that reward which might come from without. For the creator must be a world for himself, and find everything within himself, and in Nature to which he has attached himself.

a band of painted horses, all from that bright land that lingers for so long before it fades

I find you, Lord, in all Things and in all my fellow creatures, pulsing with your life; as a tiny seed you sleep in what is small and in the vast you vastly yield yourself. The wondrous game that power plays with Things is to move in such submission through the world: groping in roots and growing thick in trunks and in treetops like a rising from the dead.

turn towards nature, and try, like a First Man, to say what you see and experience and love and lose.

Does the ore feel trapped in coins and gears? does it feel homesick for earth?

Eskiden insan biliyordu (ya da belki de seziyordu) ki, meyvenin çekirdeÄŸini ta??mas? gibi, ölümü kendi içinde ta??maktad?r.

THE SWAN This laboring of ours with all that remains undone, as if still bound to it, is like the lumbering gait of the swan. And then our dying — releasing ourselves from the very ground on which we stood — is like the way he hesitantly lowers himself into the water. It gently receives him, and, gladly yielding, flows back beneath him, as wave follows wave, while he, now wholly serene and sure, with regal composure, allows himself to glide.

Wir haben nie, nicht einen einzigen Tag, den reinen Raum vor uns, in den die Blumen unendlich aufgehn.

He had been so dear to me that for my entire childhood the mere thought that one day he could no longer exist brought all of nature, both outside and inside of me, to a standstill.—But actually, under the influence of ever deeper initiation, nature eventually became more expressive, touching and moving to me with every loss that I suffered as if it brought me ever closer to its heart.

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... Life always says Yes and No simultaneously. Death (I implore you to believe) is the true Yea-sayer. It stands before eternity and says only: Yes.

Ich finde dich in allen diesen Dingen,] Ich finde dich in allen diesen Dingen, denen ich gut und wie ein Bruder bin; als Samen sonnst du dich in den geringen und in den großen giebst du groß dich hin. Das ist das wundersame Spiel der Kräfte, daß sie so dienend durch die Dinge gehn: in Wurzeln wachsend, schwindend in die Schäfte und in den Wipfeln wie ein Auferstehn.

There is only a single, urgent task: to attach oneself someplace to nature, to that which is strong, striving and bright with unreserved readiness, and then to move forward in one's efforts without any calculation or guile, even when engaged in the most trivial and mundane activities. (Letters on Life)

Was bin ich unter diese Unendlichkeit gelegt, duftend wie eine Wiese, hin und her bewegt, rufend zugleich und bange, daß einer den Ruf vernimmt, und zum Untergange in einem Andern bestimmt.

Only the solitary individual is subject, like a thing, to the fundamental laws, and if someone goes out into the morning as it is breaking, or looks out into the evening full of occurence, and if he feels what is happening there, every hint of station slips from him as if from a dead man, although he is standing in the midst of life itself.