Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
April is a promise that May is bound to keep.
No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
A frontier is never a place; it is a time and a way of life.
He who travels west travels not only with the sun but with history.
If you would know strength and patience, welcome the company of trees.
All walking is discovery. On foot we take the time to see things whole.
Nothing in nature is as simple as it sometimes seems when reduced to words.
October is the fallen leaf, but it is also a wider horizon more clearly seen.
Of all the seasons, autumn offers the most to man and requires the least of him.
All our yesterdays are summarized in our now, and all the tomorrows are ours to shape.
Time has its own dimensions, and neither the sun nor the clock can encompass them all.
There is a leisure about walking, no matter what pace you set, that lets down the tension.
Time after time ... today's crisis shrinks to next week's footnote to a newly headline disaster.
Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence.
March is a tomboy with tousled hair, a mischievous smile, mud on her shoes and a laugh in her voice.
As I stood and watched the mists slowly rising this morning I wondered what view was more beautiful than this.
No Winter lasts forever, no Spring skips its turn. April is a promise that May is bound to keep, and we know it.
To know after absence the familiar street and road and village and house is to know again the satisfaction of home.
Each new season grows from the leftovers from the past. That is the essence of change, and change is the basic law.
Year's end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us.
Nature seems to look after her own only up to a certain point; beyond that they are supposed to fend for themselves.
You can't be suspicious of a tree, or accuse a bird or a squirrel of subversion or challenge the ideology of a violet.
If the voice of the brook was not the first song of celebration, it must have been at least an obbligato for that event.
Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.
Summer is a promissory note signed in June, its long days spent and gone before you know it, and due to be repaid next January.
Strip the hills, drain the boglands, and you create flood conditions inevitably. Yet that is what we have been doing for years.
There are two seasonal diversions that can ease the bite of any winter. One is the January thaw. The other is the seed catalogues.
The owl, that bird of onomatopoetic name, is a repetitious question wrapped in feathery insulation especially for Winter delivery.
Man is wise and constantly in quest of more wisdom; but the ultimate wisdom, which deals with beginnings, remains locked in a seed.
There are no limits to either time or distance, except as man himself may make them. I have but to touch the wind to know these things.
There it is, fog, atmospheric moisture still uncertain in destination, not quite weather and not altogether mood, yet partaking of both.
A snowdrift is a beautiful thing - if it doesn't lie across the path you have to shovel or block the road that leads to your destination.
For the Fall of the year is more than three months bounded by an equinox and a solstice. It is a summing up without the finality of year's end.
A woodland in full color is awesome as a forest fire, in magnitude at least, but a single tree is like a dancing tongue of flame to warm the heart.
For anyone who lives in the oak-and-maple area of New England, there is a perennial temptation to plunge into a purple sea of adjectives about October.
Two sounds of autumn are unmistakable...the hurrying rustle of crisp leaves blown along the street...by a gusty wind, and the gabble of a flock of migrating geese.
He who walks may see and understand. You can study all America from one hilltop, if your eyes are open and your mind is willing to reach. But first you must walk to that hill.
October is the fallen leaf, but it is also a wider horizon more clearly seen. It is the distant hills once more in sight, and the enduring constellations above them once again.
The earth turns, and the seasons, and for all his pride and power man cannot temper the winds or change their course. They are the unseen tides that shape our days and our years.
The most unhappy thing about conservation is that it is never permanent. Save a priceless woodland or an irreplaceable mountain today, and tomorrow it is threatened from another quarter.
The ultimate wisdom which deals with beginnings, remains locked in a seed. There it lies, the simplest fact of the universe and at the same time the one which calls faith rather than reason.
Weekend planning is a prime time to apply the Deathbed Priority Test: On your deathbed, will you wish you'd spent more prime weekend hours grocery shopping or walking in the woods with your kids?
You fight dandelions all weekend, and late Monday afternoon there they are, pert as all get out, in full and gorgeous bloom, pretty as can be, thriving as only dandelions can in the face of adversity.
Consider the wheelbarrow. It may lack the grace of an airplane, the speed of an automobile, the initial capacity of a freight car, but its humble wheel marked out the path of what civilization we still have.
[The Christmas story] is as simple as was the Man himself and His teaching. SA simple as the Sermon on the Mount which still remains as the ultimate basis ... of the belief of free men of good will everywhere.
Any river is really the summation of a whole valley. It shapes not only the land but the life and even the culture of that valley. To think of any river as nothing but water is to ignore the greater part of it.
To see a hillside white with dogwood bloom is to know a particular ecstasy of beauty, but to walk the gray Winter woods and find the buds which will resurrect that beauty in another May is to partake of continuity.
Man is not an aquatic animal, but from the time we stand in youthful wonder beside a Spring brook till we sit in old age and watch the endless roll of the sea, we feel a strong kinship with the waters of this world.
Green, the color of growth, or surgent life, enwraps the land. New green, still as individual as the plants themselves. Cool green, which will merge as the weeks pass, the Summer comes, into a canopy of shade of busy chlorophyll.
The earth's distances invite the eye. And as the eye reaches, so must the mind stretch to meet these new horizons. I challenge anyone to stand with autumn on a hilltop and fail to see a new expanse not only around him, but in him, too.