Quotes About Nature

You broke me bodily. The heart ain't the half of it, And I'll never learn to laugh at it In my good natured way. In fact, I'm laughing less in general, But I learned a lot at my own funeral. And I knew you'd be the death of me, So I guess that's the price I pay.

Sometimes the beauty is easy. Sometimes you don't have to try at all. Sometimes you can hear the wind blow in a handshake. Sometimes there's poetry written right on the bathroom wall.

spring is super in the supermarkets and the strawberries prance and glow never mind that they're all kinda tart and tasteless as strawberries go meanwhile wild things are not for sale anymore than they are for show so i'll be outside, in love with the kind of beauty it takes more than eyes to know

i could step off the end of this pier but i got shit to do and an appointment on tuesday to shed uninvited blood and tissue i'll miss you, i say to the river to the water to the son or daughter i thought better of i could fall in love with jersey at sunset but i leave the view to the rats and tiptoe back

To put it opinionatedly, strumming an acoustic guitar is akin to scratching on the surface of a drum: antithetical to its nature.

long before medical science came along to offer any compensation for the entrapments of the modern social design. When a woman chooses whether or not to reproduce, the earth itself is choosing. With or without confirmation from man, this is the reality that the earth lives every day.

Be forever dead in Eurydice, and climb back singing. Climb praising as you return to connection. Here among the disappearing, in the realm of the transient, be a ringing glass that shatters as it rings. Be. And know as well the need to not be: let that ground of all that changes bring you to completion now. To all that has run its course, and to the vast unsayable numbers of beings abounding in Nature, add yourself gladly, and cancel the cost. Sonnets to Orpheus II, 13

Springtimes have needed you. And there are stars expecting you to notice them.

This is what the things can teach us: to fall, patiently to trust our heaviness. Even a bird has to do that before he can fly.

Between yourself & the beloved, between yourself & your joy, the riverbank swaying with wildflowers, the shaft of sunlight on the rock, the song. Will you pass through it now, will you let it consume whatever solidness this is you call your life, & send you out, a tremor of heat, a radiance, a changed flickering thing?

We shall none of us ever make love again, she thought, and did not much care. Life had not been too harsh; the sea would still be there at the end. She was nearly ready.

Her strong passions were compromised by the limited nature of her objectives. My mother had seen this at an early stage; it was to Dolly's advantage that she had never seen it at all. She needed a guide and had never found one; she needed a benevolent elder, who would watch over her and correct her.

The weather was still fine, but waning in conviction, as if its hold on heat and light were growing weaker.

In real life, of course, it is the hare that wins. Every time. Look around you.

The bougainvillea hung about it, purple and magenta, in livid balloons.

Greenness hangs, drips and sways from every branch and twig and frond in the surging luxuriance of July.

At first she mistook them for sheets of pink crepe paper that someone had crumpled and carelessly flung down the hillside, perhaps after another astonishing party at the club. A moment later she remembered her great-grandmother's words and saw that they were hosts of wild pink zephyranthes that had come up in the night after the first fall of rain.

It sure did grow big snowballs, didn't it?

Startled starlings flew up out of the high grass, their black whorl a little tornado that did not touch down and therefore did no damage. They disappeared like a momentary perception above Yancey's head, fanning out and flying west. Or like the clotted words crammed into a cartoon bubble.

If you look at the photograph...and read: `Skunk Cabbage - a plant with thick roots, wide leaves, and disagreeable smell,` you will not want to look at the cabbage itself. But if you get down on your knees and study it (holding your breath), you will find a pattern of delicate lines, curling shapes, velvety shadows, and fresh beauty.

His Susan had always been a lovely baker. There was no sweetness in her nature these days and Percy had the sudden notion that it all went into her cakes and puddings.

occurred to her suddenly that Rachael looked very like an otter herself, with her chunky front teeth, the brown hair which would turn grey when she was still young

All these daydreams reminded him of the scenes which play through your mind in a fever. At the edge of the loch he stood for a moment

We're all selfish bastards at heart, aren't we?