Smell is the mute sense, the one without words.

Habitats keep evolving new pageants of species, and we shouldn't interfere.

Flight is nothing but an attitude in motion.

I'm fascinated how often and with what whole-heartedness people will risk their lives to perform acts of courage, sacrifice, and compassion for total strangers.

There is a way of beholding nature which is a form of prayer, a way of minding something with such clarity and aliveness that the rest of the world recedes. It . . . gives the brain a small vacation.

Complexity excites the mind, and order rewards it. In the garden, one finds both, including vanishingly small orders too complex to spot, and orders so vast the mind struggles to embrace them.

Happiness doesn't require laughter, only well-being and a sense that the world is breaking someone else's heart, not mine.