Quotes About Nature

When she's in the sea, she's in the womb of the world.

Mille anni addietro il poeta Han Yun scrisse: «Tutto ciò che non ha pace griderà forte». Paragonò il bisogno umano di esprimere i sentimenti con la scrittura alla forza naturale che spinge le piante a stormire nel vento, o il metallo a risuonare quando viene percosso. Formulata quella considerazione, seppi cosa fare. Ci lavoravo da anni. Privata del mondo esterno, avevo passato la vita a guardarmi dentro e le mie emozioni erano finemente accordate.

There is no life without death. This is the true meaning of yin and yang.

I close my eyes. I hear the voices of the past in the wind and in the beating of my heart.

happy, she could change ice crystals into flowers. When she was sad or angry—as she was now—she could turn dark clouds into swarms of biting insects.

The sea, it is said, is like a mother. The salt water, the pulse and surges of the current, the magnified beat of your heart, and the muffled sounds reverberating through the water together recall the womb.

When she is in the sea, she's in the womb of the world.

plants and leave the bulbs in the ground, ignore ears of corn, or carelessly drop cabbage

Tea is to heal.

Every tree has a soul.

My eyes shifted to the trickling river. Come spring, it would be ten times as wide and just as deep. On and on it went, rushing toward the distant horizon. Like time. Like life. Sometimes gently falling from one pool into the other, other times fast and cascading, and still other times narrowing into a funnel, a torrent of knots and waves.

Is the prey complicit in its own demise? Are we not seduced in some small way by the beauty, the grace, even the dangerous soul of the predator?

Every couple starts off loving each other, don't they? It's how a relationship ends that really defines its nature.

I mean—are some men just flawed by nature? Or do we enable their bad behavior, make it worse in a way because we hide it, and don't demand better from them?

Why did people think that was okay, to kill something and stick its head on your wall?

A word I read comes to mind: solastalgia, a miserable tangle of solace, desolation, and nostalgia.

Ralph Waldo Emerson thought of weeds as plants "whose virtues had not yet been discovered.

The years grew over that embrace like a vine.

There's stardust in our bones.

solastalgia, a miserable tangle of solace, desolation, and nostalgia.

Here the streets were rivers in just hours, one lightning strike could cause a raging forest fire. Nature was always waiting to take itself back by any means necessary. There was something he liked about that, the violence of it, the truth.

Cricket felt that her spiritual home might be Neiman Marcus. She was far from the kind of place that made her feel comfortable—someplace gleaming and clean with lovely, expensive goods for sale. People were so into "nature," weren't they? Getting into it, back to it. Why? Nature just seemed spooky and unsafe to Cricket. There was that whole no-one-can-hear-you-screaming vibe. They hadn't seen another car for ages. Ages.

How big can a giant Japanese spider crab grow?" "Ten feet," I said instantly. "Very good. Hm. What color is a banded butterfly fish?" "Black and silver. Too easy!" "Too pointless, more like," Mom said under her breath.

The ocean filled the footprints where a boy and cat had stood.