Quotes About Nature

Let me ask you something. Do you think there's such a thing as a perfect day?

They are like lying in the grass under the sky on a summer day. You're blinded by the sun, but you can feel the ground beneath you, so as much as you think you could go flying off, you know you won't. You're warmed from the inside and from the outside, and you can still feel that warmth on your skin when you walk away.

she collects—lizards and beetles and flowers and bottle caps and stacks and stacks of candy wrappers and American Girl dolls

A land more severely solitary could hardly be found anywhere on the face of the globe. —JOHN MUIR, 1881

May your eye go to the Sun, To the wind your soul….You are all the colors in one, at full brightness.

Stars on the sky, stars on the ground. It's hard to tell where the sky ends and the earth begins.

Because I'm sitting next to you on this swing and you're beautiful

À distância, um relâmpago. Conto — um, dois, três, quatro — e o trovão ressoa.

She is oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium and phosphorus.

Stars in the sky, stars on the ground. It's hard to tell where the sky ends and the earth begins. I feel the need to say something grand and poetic, but the only thing I come up with is "It's lovely.

But he's not going anywhere, and then his hands find mine again. Instead of snatching it back, I make myself stand here too, and actually it's nice. The electric currents are racing. My body is humming. The breeze is blowing, rustling the leaves on the trees. It's almost like music. We stand side by side, looking out and up and around.

He says, "Look." On all sides of us, spread out below, are little white lights and black pockets of trees. Stars in the sky, stars on the ground. It's hard to tell where the sky ends and the earth begins. I hate to admit it, but it's beautiful. I feel the need to say something grand and poetic, but the only thing I come up with is "It's lovely.

I used to think that. But then I realized, believe it or not, it's actually beautiful to some people. It must be, because enough people live here, and they can't all think it's ugly.' He smiles out at the ugly trees and the ugly farmland and the ugly kids as if he can see Oz. As if he can really, truly see the beauty that's there. In that moment I wish I could see it through his eyes. I wish he had glasses to give me.

Just like all of us. The Nest Houses have reached their life expectancy. I think of the mud nest we made for the cardinal, all those years ago, and wonder if it's still there. I imagine his little bones in his little grave, and it is the saddest thought in the world.

Niech wzrok twój w sÅ'oÅ"ce, dech twój w wicher przejdzie...JesteÅ› wszystkimi kolorami jednoczeÅ›nie, w najwiÄ™kszej ich jaskrawoÅ›ci.

I'd go to Hoosier Hill with a beautiful gir

I used to think that. But then I realized, believe it or not, it's actually beautiful to some people. It must be, because enough people live here, and they can't all think it's ugly." He smiles out at the ugly trees and the ugly farmland and the ugly kids as if he can see Oz. As if he can really, truly see the beauty that's there.

Stars in the sky, stars on the ground. It's hard to tell where the sky ends and the earth begins. I feel the need to say something grand and poetic, but the only thing I come up with is "It's lovely.

I will never listen to ocean waves or view a beautiful sunset in quite the same way again. That is perhaps the greatest gift one can gain by delving into calculus: It is a whole new way of looking at the world, accessible only through the realm of mathematics.

how will my journey change me? I asked the seeress, and she replied, seated on Hlidskjalf: 'l cannot see beyond the trees but they are calling you, only the trees.

Today, I saw a little girl in a little pink dress who couldn't be older than two, and I thought of how nothing could be more fleeting, more precious, more joyous than her not knowing how, running beneath the cherry trees, she was all lightness, all reverie.

But when do the daydreams begin and the dreams end, and where does the sky end and the prairie grass begin? There are stars in the grass.

There were daffodils, yes, and crocuses, and the hardy little snowdrops; and green was beginning to wreathe its way across the land – but when you still had to scrape the ice off your car in the morning, when you still had to run across the road in howling gales and lashing rain, when it felt as if you were holding your breath, waiting for the year to begin, even as days of your life passed you by …

Nina had been told regularly since she was a child that she needed more fresh air, at which she would take her book and clamber up the apple tree at the bottom of their tatty garden, away from the car her father was always tinkering with but had never driven in all the years of her childhood—she wondered what had happened to it—and hide there, braced against the trunk, her feet swinging, burying herself in Enid Blyton or Roald Dahl until she was allowed back inside again.