Quotes About Nature

He loved the soothing hour, when the last tints of light die away; when the stars, one by one, tremble through æther, and are reflected on the dark mirror of the waters; that hour, which, of all others, inspires the mind with pensive tenderness, and often elevates it to sublime contemplation.

Towards evening, they wound down precipices, black with forest of cypress, pine and cedar, into a glen so savage and secluded, that, if Solicitude ever had local habitation, this might have been "her place of dearest residence

The refreshing pleasure from the first view of nature, after the pain of illness, and the confinement of a sick-chamber, is above the conceptions, as well as the descriptions, of those in health.

There comes a day each September when you wake up and know the summer is over and fall has arrived. The slant of the sun looks different and something is in the air--a coolness, a hint of frosty mornings to follow. I woke early on the morning of September 24 and reached for a warmer petticoat.

A dove's call echoed like a bell as her feet drummed on the road.

The sky is a meadow of wildstar flowers.

This landscape is animate: it moves, transposes, builds, proceeds, shifts, always going on, never coming back, and one can only retain it in vignettes, impressions caught in a flash, flipped through in succession, leaving a richness of images imprinted on a sunburned retina.

I sit watching until dusk, hypnotized. I think of the sea as continually sloshing back and forth, repetitive, but my psyche goes with the river- always loping downhill, purposeful, listening only to gravity.

This stretching of self beyond stretchable boundaries, this glory of being where few have stood, of listening and seeing, of feeling the sun and the rock, somehow matters very much. The exhilaration is worth every bit of the discomfort and duress. I have pushed through discomfort to another level of being. I love being here, shot through with sunlight, incandescing it outward as I receive it inward. I feel an outer glory like an aura or a nimbus

My curiosity about this country intensified…and so I went. I discovered that, like all canyons, they have a powerful sense of direction and this becomes imprinted upon one's way of thinking: there are upcanyon and downcanyon, and one adjusts to that simple fact. More than anywhere else I sensed that here one must fit into the landscape, must know what is there and where, in order to survive. These canyons, like the ocean and the air, are unforgiving.

I wish I could sit here for eons and watch as these sandstone walls crumble, grain by grain and fall to floor this dry wash, become rearranged by water and wind, compressed to other cliffs, excavated into other canyons, and feel the wind all the same. The rock changes, the channel changes, the wind just carries air from one place to another, more constant than the rock. The rock is ephemeral, the wind, eternal.

links behaarde omgeving

Come mi fosse nuovo, osservo tutto. Umido aroma dei pioppi. E taccio. Taccio, pronta ad esser te di nuovo, terra.

Maa, vaikkei kotimaani olekaan / on muistoissani katoamaton / ja merikin niin hellän-jäinen, / sen vesi miltei suolaton

You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: "she wanted storms.

Let whoever wants to, relax in the south, And bask in the garden of paradise. Here is the essence of north—and it's autumn I've chosen as this year's friend.

It is good here: rustle and snow-crunch... Ski tracks on the splendid finery of the snow; a memory that long ages ago we passed here together.

Once taken by her, you glowed And you drank her poisons, content. Because all the stars seemed to grow, And fields had a different scent, Autumn fields.

Autumn, whispering through the maples, Pleaded: 'Die here with me!

I'm happy. But some beauty is nonesuch - The gently sloping path across the wood, The wretched bridge that's just a little skewed And that, for which, I won't be waiting much.

God is unkind to gardeners and reapers. Slanted rain coils and falls from up high And the wide raincoats catch water, That once had reflected the sky. In underwater realm are fields and meadows And the free currents sing a lot, Plums rupture on bloated branches And grass strands, lying down, rot. And through the dense and watery net I see your darling face, A quiet park, a round porch And a Chinese arbour-place.

There are Four of Us I have turned aside from everything, from the whole earthly store. The spirit and guardian of this place is an old tree-stump in water. We are brief guests of the earth, as it were, and life is a habit we put on. On paths of air I seem to overhear two friendly voices, talking in turn. Did I say two?...There by the east wall's tangle of raspberry, is a branch of elder, dark and fresh. Why! It's a letter from Marina. November 1962 (in delirium)

I'm silent. Silently, I'm ready To be transformed, earth, into you.

How I love, how I loved to stare At the ironclad shores, On the balcony, where forever No foot stepped, not mine, not yours. And in truth you are -- a capital For the mad and luminous us; But when over Nieva sail Those special, pure hours And the winds of May fly over You past the iron beams You are like a dying sinner Seeing heavenly dreams...