I love little children too but I don't cut off
their heads and stick them in vases.
http://www.egroups.com/messages/nomow108/1.

I love little children too but I don't cut off
their heads and stick them in vases.
http://www.egroups.com/messages/nomow108/1.

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.

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A read more

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language.

As you sit on the hillside, or lie prone under the trees of the forest, or sprawl wet-legged by a read more

As you sit on the hillside, or lie prone under the trees of the forest, or sprawl wet-legged by a mountain stream, the great door, that does not look like a door, opens.

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.

To pay homage to beauty is to admire Nature; to admire Nature is to worship God

To pay homage to beauty is to admire Nature; to admire Nature is to worship God

Nature has no mercy at all. Nature says, "I'm going to snow. If you have on a bikini and no read more

Nature has no mercy at all. Nature says, "I'm going to snow. If you have on a bikini and no snowshoes, that's tough. I am going to snow anyway."

Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature; they
being both the servants of his read more

Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature; they
being both the servants of his providence. Art is the perfection
of nature. Were the world now as it was the sixth day, there
were yet a chaos. Nature hath made one world, and art another.
In brief, all things are artificial; for nature is the art of
God.

Plants are the young of the world, vessels of health and vigor; but they grope ever upward towards consciousness; the read more

Plants are the young of the world, vessels of health and vigor; but they grope ever upward towards consciousness; the trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment, rooted in the ground.