Quotes About Nature

Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,Full and fair ones; come and buy!If so be you ask me whereThey do grow, I answer, there,Where my Julia's lips do smile;There's the land, or cherry-isle.

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes,Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.

Fair daffodils, we weep to seeYou haste away so soon.

Made us nobly wild, not mad.

Her eyes the glowworm lend thee,The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glowLike the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

Some asked how pearls did grow, and where?Then spoke I to my girlTo part her lips, and showed them thereThe quarelets of pearl.

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers...

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Times is still a-flying And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.

THE ROCK OF RUBIES, AND THE QUARRY OF PEARLS Some ask'd me where the Rubies grew: And nothing I did say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. Some ask'd how Pearls did grow, and where: Then spoke I to my girl, To part her lips, and shew me there The quarrelets of Pearl.

To Sycamores I'm sick of Love; O let me lie Under your shades, to sleep or die! Either is welcome; so I have Or here my Bed, or here my Grave. Why do you sigh, and sob, and keep Time with the tears, that I do weep? Say, have ye sence, or do you prove What Crucifixions are in Love? I know ye do; and that's the why, You sigh for Love, as well as I

Have ye beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam A strawberry shows half drowned in cream? Or seen rich rubies blushing through A pure smooth pearl, and orient too? So like to this, nay all the rest, Is each neat niplet of her breast.

you is all of Heaven. Every leaf that falls is given life in you. Each bird that ever sang will sing again in you. And every flower that ever bloomed has saved its perfume and its loveliness for you. Text-25.

Happiness is your original nature. It is YOU minus your neurosis.

The truth is, the science of Nature has been already too long made only a work of the brain and the fancy: It is now high time that it should return to the plainness and soundness of observations on material and obvious things.

A lion is at liberty who can follow the laws of his own nature, who can eat when his stomach tells him, who can sleep when his fierce eyes grow weary, who can scratch long furrows in a forest tree when his claws feel so disposed. He is not at liberty when he lives in a cage, is fed on horseflesh at 4 p.m., and is compelled at the point of a red-hot poker to spell P-I-G – PIG, in the presence of a diverted crowd.

Humanity-Religion could only be true if at least half of man's nature, aspirations and sorrows were ignored. Christianity, on the other hand, at least included and accounted for these, even if it did not explain them.

Landscape is to American painting what sex and psychoanalysis are to the American novel.

The sky was yellow and the sun was blue...

As far as I am concerned I wish to be out on the high seas. I wish to take my chances with wind, and wave, and star. And I had rather go down in the glory and grandeur of the storm, than rot in any orthodox harbor.

stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot oftener, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more and cry less. Life must be lived as we go along.

I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys. – Song of Solomon 2:1

There is a river whose streams shall make glad the city of God. – Psalm 46:4

The same God who dresses the flowers and feeds the birds knows our needs too.

Praise Him, sun and moon . . . fire and hail, snow and clouds . . . mountains . . . cattle . . . creeping things and flying fowl . . . all peoples. . . . Let them praise the name of the Lord. – from Psalm 148