Quotes About Nature

Well, one can't get over the habit of being a little girl all at once," said Anne gaily. "You see, I was little for fourteen years and I've only been grown-uppish for scarcely three. I'm sure I shall always feel like a child in the woods.

If I really wanted to pray I'll tell you what I'd do. I'd go out into a great big field all alone or into the deep, deep, woods, and I'd look up into the sky—up—up—up—into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I'd just FEEL a prayer.

it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don't you think?

April came tiptoeing in beautifully that year with sunshine and soft winds for a few days; and then a driving northeast snowstorm dropped a white blanket over the world

The world looks like something God had just imagined for His own pleasure, doesn't it? Those trees look as if I could blow them away with a breath — pouf! I'm so glad I live in a world where there are white frosts, aren't you?

I'm so glad my window looks east into the sunrising,' said Anne, going over to Diana. 'It's so splendid to see the morning coming up over those long hills and glowing through those sharp fir tops. It's new every morning, and I feel as if I washed my very soul in that bath of earliest sunshine.

The Haunted Wood was a harmless, pretty spruce grove in the field below the orchard. We considered that all our haunts were too commonplace, so we invented this for our own amusement.

Anne, on her way to Orchard Slope, met Diana, bound for Green Gables, just where the mossy old log bridge spanned the brook below the Haunted Wood, and they sat down by the margin of the Dryad's Bubble, where tiny ferns were unrolling like curly-headed green pixy folk wakening up from a nap.

How beautiful it was, lying embowered in the twilight of the old trees; the tips of the loftiest spruces came out in purple silhouettes against the north-weatersn sky of rose and amber; down behind it the Blair Water dreamed in silver; the Wind Woman had folded her misty bat-wings in a valley of sunset and stillness that lay over the world like a blessing. Emily felt sure that everything would be all right.

Twilight drops her curtain down, and pins it with a star.

You talk in the language of the violets.

Have you ever noticed how many different silences there are, Gilbert? The silence of the woods . . . of the shore . . . of the meadows . . . of the night . . . of the summer afternoon. All different because all the undertones that thread them are different. I'm sure if I were totally blind and insensitive to heat and cold I could easily tell just where I was by the quality of the silence about me.

I don't feel like tame domestic joys today. I want to feel alone and free and wild.

I'm going to imagine that I'm the wind that is blowing up there in those tree tops. When I get tired of the trees I'll imagine I'm gently waving down here in the ferns—and then I'll fly over to Mrs. Lynde's garden and set the flowers dancing—and then I'll go with one great swoop over the clover field—and then I'll blow over the Lake of Shining Waters and ripple it all up into little sparkling waves. Oh, there's so much scope for imagination in a wind!

pointed firs coming out against the pink sky- and that white orchard and the old Snow Queen. Isn't the breath of the mint delicious? And that tea rose- why, it's a song and a hope and a prayer all in one.

If I really wanted to pray I'll tell you what I'd do. I'd go out into a great big field all alone or into the deep, deep woods, and I'd look up into the sky - up - up - up - into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I'd just feel the prayer.

The woods were God's first temples, quoted Anne softly. One can't help feeling reverent and adoring in such a place. I always feel so near Him when I walk among the pines.

How beautiful it was, lying embowered in the twilight of the old trees; the tips of the loftiest spruces came out in purple silhouette against the north-western sky of rose an amber; down behind it the Blair Water dreamed in silver; the Wind Woman had folded her misty bat-wings in a valley of sunset and stillness lay over the world like a blessing.

And the coming of Anne—the vivid, imaginative, impetuous child with her heart of love, and her world of fancy, bringing with her color and warmth and radiance, until the wilderness of existence had blossomed like the rose.

Trees aren't much company, though dear knows if they were there'd be enough of them.

the golden west between its softly dark shores. The sea moaned eerily on the sand-bar, sorrowful even in spring, but a sly, jovial wind

DoÄŸan?n bize sunduÄŸu iyileÅŸtirici güçlere kalbimizi kapatmamam?z gerektiÄŸini düÅŸünüyorum.

up over a wooded hill beyond, where perpetual twilight reigned under the straight, thick-growing firs and spruces; the only flowers there were myriads of delicate "June bells," those shyest and sweetest of woodland blooms, and a few pale, aerial starflowers, like the spirits of last year's blossoms. Gossamers glimmered like threads of silver among the trees and the fir boughs and tassels seemed to utter friendly speech.

Anne went back to Green Gables by way of the Birth Path, shadowy, rustling, fern-scented, through Violet Vale and past Willowmere, where dark and light kissed each other under the firs, and down through Lovers' Lane ... spots she and Diana had so named long ago. She walked slowly enjoying the sweetness of wood and field, and the starry summer twilight, and thinking soberly about the new duties she was to take up on the morrow.