Quotes About Nature

that seasons would come and go with the clouds passing across the sky, but also that everything would come around again and find itself much as it had been generations ago, in the farms and the rivers and the towering cliffs and the gentle running valleys, where life did not move so fast that there wasn't time to settle down with a cup of tea and a piece of shortbread and a book.

No experimental cures. No life-prolonging – and misery-prolonging – chemotherapy. As far as Colton was concerned, he had made his plans and said his goodbyes and was now letting the tide go out, ever so slightly; the waves came less far up the beach; the sea got further and further from view, bit by bit.

but the view was utterly breathtaking. She felt as if she were in the middle of a living, breathing painting in a million shades of green.

She led him up through the now silent garden of the hotel, its fairy lights sparkling among the trees, the revellers inside, or gone home to bed. The early roses gave out their spring scent along with the perfume of bluebells in the deeper grass. And she led him to the sturdy tree trunk, both of them under a spell, a cloud of summer nights and dancing and laughter and music.

The loch was the worst kind of dangerous: beautiful and tempting.

For most of her life, the outdoors had simply been something to shelter from whilst she got on with her reading.

Here, though, in front of my eyes was a churn; an unhappy maelstrom of three elements - air, earth and water - all at war with one another, wrestling for territory, demanding and striking one another. You could not see where the ground began, or see if the rain was coming from up, down, left or right. There were no glimpses of the moon or stars through the fast-moving clouds. Only the regular forks of lightning zapping through showed any direction in the madness.

Trees are astonishing communicators." "When they rustle?" "It's more like a kind of bubbly noise. If they're thirsty. Like trying to get the last bits through a straw." "Why isn't everyone absolutely freaking out about this?" said Carmen. "Well, dendrologists are. For years, it was considered absolutely ridiculous to think it. Then studies came along and proved it.

Huckle honey

normally it's in like a lion, out like an even more annoyed lion, who is also drunk, but sometimes - just sometimes - the sun does come properly out and it feels like a benediction.

Everything was a tempest in grey and steely blue, the line of the horizon merely a suggestion.

could happen two or three times a week – the sun would appear, simply to confound and delight you, breaking across the wet dawn dew, popping its head up over the purple mountains ahead, and once again you would forgive Scotland all its wet mornings and dark evenings for the utter glory of how perfect a perfect day could be.

Well, I'm not good with sliminess. I hate the thought of creatures that have slime on them or creatures that leave a slimy trail. At home, the sight of a slug can bring up my breakfast.

It's the imperfections that make things beautiful

I like the way he looks at me, like I am a wood nymph that he happened upon one day and just had to take home to keep.

Instead I let the moment pass and I just sighed and leaned back onto my chair. The sky was pinky gold. I had the feeling that there was nothing more beautiful than this, that this particular sunset matched the beauty of anything in this world, ten times over. I could feel all the tension of the day drifting away from me and out to sea. I wanted to memorize it all in case I didn't get to come back again. You never know the last time you'll see a place. A person.

The air tasted just the same, smelled just the same. The wind making my hair feel sticky, the salty sea breeze, all of it felt just right. Like it had been waiting for me to get there.

A memory, pressed into my heart like a leaf in a book.

But I don't think people change at the core.

His voice made my shiver, it was like the sound f water when it pulls off sand.

It still feels weird to spend money on Christmas trees. Back when Mom was alive, we'd go out "tree hunting." That's what she called it, anyway. I think other people might use the word "trespassing.

Somewhere outside, a goldfinch was singing. Or maybe it was a song sparrow. My dad tried to teach me different kinds of bird songs, but I couldn't quite remember.

We're on an adventure, she yells. We don't need cell phones for an adventure.

As you grow up you spend less and less time outside. Nobody can say "Go play outside" to you anymore to you.