Quotes About Nature

They darted like needles through the morning - they wove the bright May morning into a fabric strong enough to support a party.

In California, the first spring is in November. March only echoes.

And so well did they hide themselves in their love that grass grew over their hearts and all their loud songs became indecipherable ribbons of air.

One is expecting something , and can't say what — yet when one sees it , one knows what one knew , what one knew and couldn't say . It is this way with death . It is in our nature to feel the extent of it when we face it , and to have it fall away the moment we turn

I smell the wet black dirt and remember days in the garden, when it would have been possible to stand and run to my wife or stand and run to my son. But I did not do so. I concerned myself with parsley or yams or pulling weeds. I had so much and all at once. There is too much light in those thoughts. Light everywhere. It obliterates me. I recoil.

So—a French garden, as far as I can tell, is a garden that gets tended. You know, my aunt, she walks around it slowly and bends down now and then to pull up some shit, or to stick some other stuff in somewhere. That's a French garden. An English garden is something that used to be a French garden but that no one does anything to anymore. So, it looks run-down. Things don't grow in proper lines. This is what they tell me. My

It is so easy for humans to be cruel, and they leap to it. They love to do it. It is an exercise of all their laughable powers

She grew not on the land so much as out of it, like cottonwoods and bear grass. Each fall a part of her collapsed and withered alongside the wildflowers and grapevines she loved and used for healing. Each spring some new part of her erupted just as the mallows and poppies did, spreading her toes like roots in the truth and sustenance of ground, while branching out to the rest of the living world and stretching upwards towards the light.

Skipping by the flowers, Skipping around for hours, Skipping in rain showers — Skipping has magical powers!

Skipping is nature's antidepressant.

You cannot step twice in the same river--Heraclitus

I'm not squeamish at all. As a child I dragged a dead squirrel home on my skateboard and cut it open and tried to look at its brain.

In many ways we modern day vandwellers are just like the Mountain Men of old: We need to be alone and on the move, but we equally need to occasionally gather together and make connections with like-minded people who understand us.

One guy at a Rubber Tramp Rendezvous campfire was horrified to learn I hadn't yet read Travels with Charley; the next day he arrived at the van to lend me a paperback. Other entries in the literary canon of this subculture included Blue Highways by William Least Heat- Moon, Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey, Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, Walden by Henry David Thoreau, and Wild by Cheryl Strayed.

One of them, FreeCampsites.net, logged idyllic places in nature where visitors could stay for free, from small city parks to sprawling national forests.

I don't want to be in my car all day. I love getting up in the morning in Venice and walking my dogs down to the cafe to get my tea, and then perhaps going to a bookstore and sitting and reading, then walking to the beach.

Wind does not need translation. It speaks the language of men, of animals and birds, of rocks and trees and earth and sky and water. It does not eat or sleep, or take shelter from the weather. It is the weather. And it lives.

And so they lived for many a long year, as happy and lighthearted as the birds in the trees and the flowers on the hill in spring.

Do you hear the rain? Do you hear the rain?

The only place I've felt was really my home is my cabin up north. There's something in the water there that connects me to that place. There's also this sense of isolation and loneliness about it that I've never been able to shake.

I discovered that Human Nature was not, as I had always supposed, a fixed and unalterable entity, that wars are not caused by a natural urge in men to fight, that ownership of land and factories is not necessarily the natural reward of greater wisdom and energy.

I like to sing around the bonfire, in my car and in the shower.

San Ysidro Ranch and

I can still bring into my body the joy I felt at seeing the first trillium of spring, which seemed to be telling me, "Never give up hope, spring will come.