For observing nature, the best pace is a snail's pace.

If man can take care of man, nature can take care of the rest.

The city man, in his neon-and-mazda glare, knows nothing of nature's midnight. His electric lamps surround him with synthetic sunshine. They push back the dark. They defend him from the realities of the age-old night.

For observing nature, the best pace is a snail's pace.

The difference between utility and utility plus beauty is the difference between telephone wires and the spider web.

Change is a measure of time and, in the autumn, time seems speeded up. What was is not and never again will be; what is is change.

The seasons, like greater tides, ebb and flow across the continents. Spring advances up the United States at the average rate of about fifteen miles a day. It ascends mountainsides at the rate of about a hundred feet a day. It sweeps ahead like a flood of water, racing down the long valleys, creeping up hillsides in a rising tide. Most of us, like the man who lives on the bank of a river and watches the stream flow by, see only one phase of the movement of spring. Each year the season advances toward us out of the south, sweeps around us, goes flooding away to the north.