... love is an act of sedition, a revolt against reason, an uprising in the body politic, a private mutiny.

Our relationship with nature has changed radically, irreversibly, but by no means all for the bad. Our new epoch is laced with invention. Our mistakes are legion, but our talent is immeasurable.

Hit a tripwire of smell and memories explode all at once. A complex vision leaps out of the undergrowth.

We are defined by how we place our attention.

It's animal by animal that you save a species.

Writer's block is a luxury most people with deadlines don't have.

We tend to think of memories as monuments we once forged and may find intact beneath the weedy growth of years. But, in a real sense, memories are tied to and describe the present. Formed in an idiosyncratic way when they happened, they're also true to the moment of recall, including how you feel, all you've experienced, and new values, passions, and vulnerability. One never steps into the same stream of consciousness twice.