Quotes About Harmony

chorus of living wood sings to the woman: If your mind were only a slightly greener thing, we'd drown you in meaning.

Dennis Ward, drops by with little gifts, when he's on site. Wasps' nests. Insect galls. Pretty stones polished by the creeks. Their standing arrangement reminds

Trees know when we're close by. The chemistry of their roots and the perfumes their leaves pump out change when we're near. . . . When you feel good after a walk in the woods

leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.

all growing things alone disclose the wordless mind of God.

This is not our world with trees in it. It's a world of trees, where humans have just arrived.

You live between three trees.

real joy consists of knowing that human wisdom counts less than the shimmer of beeches in a breeze.

There's joy in a minor key, a deep pleasure to be had from hearing the darkest tune and discovering you're equal to it.

Since I don't smoke or drink or swear unconvincingly, symmetry is my only vice.

Being kind toward everything alive. Staying level and steady. Feeling happy for any creature anywhere that is happy. And remembering that any suffering is also yours.

for footprint and understanding.

To call any music subversive, to say that a set of pitches and rhythms could pose a threat to real power . . . ludicrous. And yet, from Plato to Pyongyang, that endless need to legislate sounds. To police the harmonic possibilities as if there were no limits to music's threat.

Not everything we plant will take. Not every plant will thrive. But together we can watch the ones that do fill up our garden.

May all sentient beings be free from needless suffering.

Some were as singable as any human tune. He counted, sensitizing to the calls that played off one another, each a solo against a mass chorus. He lost count after a dozen, unsure where to lump and where to split. Every complex riff was identifiable, although Weber could identify none. Softer, in the middle distance, he heard the shush of cars along Interstate 80 whooshing like sprung balloons.

Something magnificent and enduring hid under music's exhausted surface. Somewhere behind the familiar staff lay constellations of notes, sequences of pitches that could bring the mind home.

Six different kinds of forest all around us. Seventeen hundred flowering plants. More tree species than in all of Europe. Thirty kinds of salamander, for God's sake. Sol 3, that little blue dot, had a lot going for it, when you could get away from the dominant species long enough to clear your head. Above us, a raven the size of an Oz winged monkey flew up into a white pine.

Nothing we can do. But at least we can do it together.

People have no corner on curious behavior. Other creatures—bigger, slower, older, more durable—call the shots, make the weather, feed creation, and create the very air.

Priži?r?ti sodai visi panaš?s. O kiekvienas laukinis sodas laukinis savaip.

Earth may be alive: not as the ancients saw her—a sentient Goddess with a purpose and foresight—but alive like a tree. A tree that quietly exists, never moving except to sway in the wind, yet endlessly conversing with the sunlight and the soil. Using sunlight and water and nutrient minerals to grow and change. But all done so imperceptibly, that to me the old oak tree on the green is the same as it was when I was a child. —JAMES LOVELOCK

Ese es el problema de la gente, la raíz de todo. La vida pasa a su lado desapercibida. Aquí mismo, muy cerca de ellos. En la creación del suelo. En el ciclo del agua. En el intercambio de nutrientes. En la formación del clima. En la construcción de la atmósfera. En la alimentación, curación y refugio de más tipos de criaturas de las que son capaces de contar.

Join enough living things together, through the air and underground, and you wind up with something that has intention. Forest. A threatened creature.