Not just beautiful, though--the stars are like the trees in the forest, alive and breathing. And they're watching me.
There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
The sea is emotion incarnate. It loves, hates, and weeps. It defies all attempts to capture it with words and rejects all shackles. No matter what you say about it, there is always that which you can't.
I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.
The richness I achieve comes from nature, the source of my inspiration.
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.
What humbugs we are, who pretend to live for beauty, and never see the dawn!
Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.
We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence.
There is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.
The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.
Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug.
We need silence to be able to touch souls.
We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature - trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence... We need silence to be able to touch souls.
I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, "This is what it is to be happy.
The earth has music for those who listen.
Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.
There is a way that nature speaks, that land speaks. Most of the time we are simply not patient enough, quiet enough, to pay attention to the story.
The poetry of the earth is never dead.
If one way be better than another, that you may be sure is nature's way.
Reading about nature is fine, but if a person walks in the woods and listens carefully, he can learn more than what is in books, for they speak with the voice of God.
All my life through, the new sights of Nature made me rejoice like a child.
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