Mystery causes a mental itch, which the brain tries to soothe with the balm of reasonable talk.

Flight is nothing but an attitude in motion.

habit, a particularly insidious thug who chokes passion and smothers love. Habit puts us on autopilot.

There was nothing to do but wait. It is always like this for naturalists, and for poets--the long hours of travel and preparation, and then the longer hours of waiting. All for that one electric, pulse-revving vision when the universe suddenly declares itself.

There's no place you can go on the prairie that you don't hear the white noise of the wind, steady and rough as surf curling along a non-existant shore.

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

Look in the mirror. The face that pins you with its double gaze reveals a chastening secret.