That man's best works should be such bungling imitations of Nature's infinite perfection, matters not much; but that he should read more

That man's best works should be such bungling imitations of Nature's infinite perfection, matters not much; but that he should make himself an imitation, this is the fact which Nature moans over, and deprecates beseechingly. Be spontaneous, be truthful, be free, and thus be individuals! is the song she sings through warbling birds, and whispering pines, and roaring waves, and screeching winds.

The actuality of all of material Nature is therefore kept out of action and that of all corporeality along with read more

The actuality of all of material Nature is therefore kept out of action and that of all corporeality along with it, including the actuality of my body, the body of the cognizing subject.

A person cannot love a plant after he has pruned it, then he has either done a poor job or read more

A person cannot love a plant after he has pruned it, then he has either done a poor job or is devoid of emotion.

We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. read more

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.

Of all things visible, the highest is the heaven of the fixed stars.

Of all things visible, the highest is the heaven of the fixed stars.

You can live for years next door to a big pine tree, honored to have so venerable a neighbor, even read more

You can live for years next door to a big pine tree, honored to have so venerable a neighbor, even when it sheds needles all over your flowers or wakes you, dropping big cones onto your deck at still of night.

Once you have heard the lark, known the swish of feet through hill-top grass and smelt the earth made ready read more

Once you have heard the lark, known the swish of feet through hill-top grass and smelt the earth made ready for the seed, you are never again going to be fully happy about the cities and towns that man carries like a crippling weight upon his back.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
read more

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.

Not without art, but yet to Nature true.

Not without art, but yet to Nature true.