Quotes About Wildlife

Kangaroos have three vaginas.

Woodpeckers are natural engineers whose abandoned nest and roost cavities facilitate a great diversity of life, including birds, mammals, invertebrates, and many fungi,moss, and lichens. Without woodpeckers, birds such as chickadees and tits, swallows ans martins, bluebirds, some flycatchers, nuthatches, wood ducks, hooded mergansers, and small owls (screech, saw-whet, and pygmy) would be homeless.

Those of us who retain dead trees or place nest boxes in our yards enjoy the wonder of watching woodpeckers listen and dig for termites; we are serenaded by wrens; and we benefit from the appetites of swallow, chickadee, bluebird, and flycatcher broods that are sated on insects, including pesky mosquitoes.

I believe our biggest issue is the same biggest issue that the whole world is facing, and that's habitat destruction.

I think my path would have always gone back to or delivered me to wildlife. I think wildlife is just like a magnet, and it's something that I can't help.

Wolves are very resourceful. All they need to survive is for people not to shoot them.

Living wild species are like a library of books still unread. Our heedless destruction of them is akin to burning the library without ever having read its books.

Almost all these hotspots around the world, most have been destroyed to the point where there is no wildlife and very little of the natural world left.

You completely rediscovered & relived everything to do with wildlife.

Birds are extremely valued as indicators of overall environmental health. If there's a problem in a wild bird population, it's indicative that something went wrong.

Try to catch a trout and experience the glorious feeling of letting it go and seeing it swimming away.

Catch-and-release fishing is an ecological necessity, not my preference. The practice smacks of bad faith, an inauthentic act.

There are no bargains between lions and men. I will kill you and eat you raw.

He loved to draw. Animals pouncing mostly. And trees. Always lone trees in black landscapes.

Something of an accomplished acrobat, Burgess managed to not only stay on Austin, but race around his shoulders and then down the back of his shirt. That only served to set Austin off more. He fell onto the grass and did a bizarre version of stop, drop, and roll. Except there was no fire. Just a fox squirrel. Every turn Austin did left the bulge that was better known as Burgess moving around under his shirt, easily avoiding being smushed. "Get it off me!

Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods. Here grow the wallflower and the violet. The squirrel will come and sit upon your knee, the logcock will wake you in the morning. Sleep in forgetfulness of all ill. Of all the upness accessible to mortals, there is no upness comparable to the mountains.

An eagle soaring above a sheer cliff, where I suppose its nest is, makes another striking show of life, and helps to bring to mind the other people of the so-called solitude—deer in the forest caring for their young; the strong, well-clad, well-fed bears; the lively throng of squirrels; the blessed birds, great and small, stirring and sweetening the groves; and the clouds of happy insects filling the sky with joyous hum as part and parcel of the down-pouring sunshine.

Though alligators and snakes naturally repel us, they are no mysterious evils. They dwell happily in these flowery wilds, are part of God's family, unfallen, un-depraved and cared for with the same species of tenderness and love as is bestowed on angels in heaven or saints on earth. A

Hostas were the hot fudge sundaes of the deer world.

A water snake glided smoothly up the pool, twisting its periscope head from side to side; and it swam the length of the pool and came to the legs of a motionless heron that stood in the shadows. A silent head and beak lanced down and plucked it out by the head, and the beak swallowed the little snake while its tail waved frantically.

A stilted heron labored up into the air and pounded down the river.

There were frogs all right, thousands of them. Their voices beat the night, they boomed and barked and croaked and rattled. They sang to the stars, to the waning moon, to the waving grasses. They bellowed long songs and challenges.

On the fences the shiny blackbirds with red epaulets clicked their dry call. The meadowlarks sang like water, and the wild doves, concealed among the bursting leaves of the oaks, made a sound of restrained grieving.

The impact of an attacking tiger can be compared to that of a piano falling on you from a second story window. But unlike the piano, the tiger is designed to do this, and the impact is only the beginning.