To us also, through every star, through every blade of grass, is not God made visible if we will open our minds and our eyes.
I asked the waiter, 'Is this milk fresh?' He said, 'Lady, three hours ago it was grass.'
It had been startling and disappointing to me to find out that story books had been written by people, that books were not natural wonders, coming of themselves like grass.
What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the Sunset.
I used my imagination to make the grass whatever color I wanted it to be.
The fulness of the godhead dwelt in every blade of grass.
Life had been a suit I'd only put on for special occasions. Most of the time I kept it in the back of my closet, forgetting it was there. We were meant to die when it was barely stitched anymore, when the elbows and knees were stained with grass and mud, shoulder pads uneven from people hugging you all the time, downpours and blistering sun, the fabric faded, buttons gone.
Burn down your cities and leave our farms, and your cities will spring up again as if by magic; but destroy our farms and the grass will grow in the streets of every city in the country.
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
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 bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.
He was in love with life as an ant on a summer blade of grass.
The grass is always greener over the septic tank.
If the grass looks greener on the other side, it is probably astroturf.
We say of the oak, How grand of girth! Of the willow we say, How slender! And yet to the soft grass clothing the earth How slight is the praise we render.
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. Shovel them under and let me work. I am the grass. I cover all.
Grass grows at last above all graves.
The sun's champagne streamed from one body into another. And there was a couple on the green silk of the grass, covered by a raspberry umbrella. Only their feet and a little bit of lace could be seen. In the magnificent universe beneath the raspberry umbrella, with closed eyes, they drank in the sparkling madness. 'Extra! Extra! Zeppelins over the North Sea at 3 o'clock.' But under the umbrella, in the raspberry universe, they were immortal. What did it matter that in another far-away universe people would be killing each other?
It's just a job. Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.
From our broadcasting box you can't see any grass at all. It is simply a carpet of humanity.
If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.
Look at those animals and remember the greatest scientists in the world have never discovered how to make grass into milk.
One hundred trout are needed to support one man for a year. The trout, in turn, must consume 90,000 frogs, that must consume 27 million grasshoppers that live off of 1,000 tons of grass.
All Nature bristles with the marks of interrogation-among the grass and the petals of flowers, amidst the feathers of birds and the hairs of mammals, on mountain and moorland, in sea and sky-everywhere. It is one of the joys of life to discover those marks of interrogation, these unsolved and half-solved problems and try to answer their questions.
Until man duplicates a blade of grass, nature can laugh at his so called scientific knowledge.
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