Quotes About Wonder

I accept Time absolutely. It alone is without flaw, It alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder.

I and this mystery, here we stand.

I swear to you, there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell

Oh, to be alive in such an age, when miracles are everywhere, and every inch of common air throbs a tremendous prophecy, of greater marvels yet to be.

Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?

A blade of grass is the journeywork of the stars

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

You must not know too much or be too precise or scientific about birds and trees and flowers and watercraft; a certain free-margin , or even vagueness - ignorance, credulity - helps your enjoyment of these things.

I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.

The earth never tires, The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first, Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd, I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.

I heard what was said of the universe, heard it and heard it of several thousand years; it is middling well as far as it goes – but is that all?

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is, any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

To me, every cubic inch of space is a miracle.

And that all the things of the universe are perfect miracles, each as         profound as any.

As to me,I know of nothing but miracles.

I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night. Press close bare-bosom'd night—press close magnetic nourishing night! Night of south winds—night of the large few stars! Still nodding night—mad naked summer night. — Walt Whitman, from "Song of Myself, 21," Leaves of Grass: The Deathbed Edition (BOMC, 1992)

I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing hearing and feeling are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.

And that my Soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other without ever seeing each other, and never perhaps to see each other, is every bit as wonderful.

Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.

After all, the great lesson is that no special natural sights---not Alps, Niagara, Yosemite or anything else---is more grand or more beautiful than the ordinary sunrise and sunset, earth and sky, the common trees and grass.

Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.

morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.

The earth recedes from me into the night, I saw that it was beautiful . . . . and I see that what is not the earth is beautiful.