Nature... She pardons no mistakes. Her yea is yea, and her nay, nay.

Nature... She pardons no mistakes. Her yea is yea, and her nay, nay.

Joy in looking and comprehending is nature's most beautiful gift.

Joy in looking and comprehending is nature's most beautiful gift.

A garden must combine the poetic and he mysterious with a feeling of serenity and joy.

A garden must combine the poetic and he mysterious with a feeling of serenity and joy.

The poetry of the earth is never dead.

The poetry of the earth is never dead.

It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts, as for that read more

It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.

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.

I still get wildly enthusiastic about little things... I play with leaves. I skip down the street and run against read more

I still get wildly enthusiastic about little things... I play with leaves. I skip down the street and run against the wind.

The search for truth is in one way hard and in another way easy, for it is evident that no read more

The search for truth is in one way hard and in another way easy, for it is evident that no one can master it fully or miss it wholly. But each adds a little to our knowledge of nature, and from all the facts assembled there arises a certain grandeur.

In some mysterious way woods have never seemed to me to be static things. In physical terms, I move through read more

In some mysterious way woods have never seemed to me to be static things. In physical terms, I move through them; yet in metaphysical ones, they seem to move through me.