Part of the irony of environmentalism is questing for solutions when you know you're part of the problem.

In our heart we know that life loves life. Yet we feast on some of the other life-forms with which we share our planet; we kill to live. Taste is what carries us across that rocky moral terrain, what makes the horror palatable, and the paradox we could not defend by reason melts into a jungle of sweet temptations.

There are well-dressed foolish ideas just as there are well-dressed fools.

[On gardens:] I think they're sanctuaries for the mind and spirit. ... It's easy to feel wonder-struck in a garden, especially if you cultivate delight.

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

Smell is the mute sense, the one without words.

So often loneliness comes from being out of touch with parts of oneself. We go searching for those parts in other people, but there's a difference between feeling separate from others and separate from oneself.