Quotes About Nature

And if you knew from what scraps Poems are born — without shame Like yellow dandelions by a wormy fence, Like wild spinach or the common burr.

It seems as though the voice of man Will never sound in this place, But only wind from age of stone Is knocking on black gates. It seems to me that I alone Have kept good health under this sky, Because of this, that first I sought To drink the deadly wine. Parting, Evening and slanting, Downward goes my way. Yesterday in love still, "Don't forget" you prayed. Now there's only shepherds' Cry, and glancing winds, And the worried cedars Stand by clear springs.

All promised him to me: The heaven's edge, dark and kind, And lovely Christmas sleep And multi-ringing Easter wind, And the red branches of a twig, And waterfalls inside a park, And two dragonflies On rusty iron of a bulwark. And I could not disbelieve, That he'll befriend me all alone When on the mountain slopes I went Along hot pathway made of stone.

An as it's going often at love's breaking, The ghost of first days came again to us, The silver willow through window then stretched in, The silver beauty of her gentle branches. The bird began to sing the song of light and pleasure To us, who fears to lift looks from the earth, Who are so lofty, bitter and intense, About days when we were saved together.

Nature-study cultivates in the child a love of the beautiful . . . a perception of color, form and music . . But more than all, nature-study gives the child a sense of companionship with life out-of-doors and an abiding love of nature.

The child should never be required to learn the name of anything in the nature-study work; but the name should be used so often and so naturally in his presence, that he will learn it without being conscious of the process

THE nature-study lesson should be short and sharp and may vary from ten minutes to a half hour in length.

It was the blue-hour, the era of endarkenment. In the air, however, was the delicious smell of life. Possibly real, possibly delusional, came the fragrance of newly cut grass, of freshly turned damp earth, of honeysuckle at the end of summertime - things that might make a person happy, especially unexpectedly happy, and which cost little, bar the willingness, and the gratefulness, to open up and breathe.

He'd called her a sparrow. If he made the slightest untoward movement, his wild bird would fly away into the forest and he'd never find her again. And the strangest result of the last days was the certainty that if Miss Philippa Sanders left his life, it would be immeasurably poorer.

It is extraordinary that nobody nowadays under the stress of great troubles is turned into stone or a bird or a tree or some inanimate object; they used to undergo such metamorphoses in ancient times (or so they say), though whether that is myth or a true story I know not. Maybe it would be better to change one's nature into something that lacks all feeling, rather than be so sensitive to evil. Had that been possible, these calamities would in all probability have turned me to stone.

Commit to finding the true nature of art. Go for that thing no one can teach you. Go for that communion, that real communion with your soul, and the discipline of expressing that communion with others. That doesn't come from competition. That comes from being one with what you are doing.

The creature laughed with a sound like water splashing softly on pebbles.

Look, isn't this beautiful? So simple. Just one stroke, and there you are. A flower, a fish, a grasshopper. Look at this duck, how angry it looks; or these mountains in the mist. And you see how he's drawn the mist? As if it were nothing, just an emptiness. And these chicks, see them? So soft you want to stroke them. Look, his ink is like down, his ink is soft...

She drew the Loire. Slow, wide, calm, imperturbable. The lazy sandbanks, the pilings, the mildewed boats. Over there, a cormorant. Pale rushes and the blue of the sky. A winter blue- metallic, brilliant, bold, showing off its colors between two big weary clouds.

The first stab of love is like a sunset, a blaze of color -- oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples...

Leopards don't change their spots

A whisper. To speak in a whisper. To whisper—like the sea.

At last I feel identified with the mountains, clean, cold, hard, detached.

I always know what to expect of the things of Mother Earth. Sometimes they are cruel, but it is hard, clean cruelty. They don't torture you with their own weakness.

Let parents, therefore, not scruple to use the power God and Nature have put into their hands for the advantage of their offspring. Let them not fear to impress them with prejudices for whatever is fair and honorable in action — whatever is useful and important in systematic truth. Let such prejudices be wrought into the very texture of the soul.

People and trees are caught in irreversible histories of disturbance. But some kinds of disturbance have been followed by regrowth of a sort that nurtures many lives.

It's not easy to know how to make a life, much less avert planetary destruction. Luckily there is still company, human and not human.

First, all that taming and mastering has made such a mess that it is unclear whether life on earth can continue.

nature, and they had to accept nature in all its amplitude; these troubles were the age-old habit of respecting nature's orders, accepting from it the enlightenment as well as the horror.