Natural history is a matter of observation; it is a harvest which you gather when and where you find it growing. Birds and squirrels and flowers are not always in season, but philosophy we have always with us. It is a crop which we can grow and reap at all times and in all places and it has its own value and brings its own satisfaction.

He who marvels at the beauty of the world in summer will find equal cause for wonder and admiration in winter.

A somebody was once a nobody who wanted to and did.

Look up at the miracle of the falling snow,—the air a dizzy maze of whirling, eddying flakes, noiselessly transforming the world, the exquisite crystals dropping in ditch and gutter, and disguising in the same suit of spotless livery all objects upon which they fall.

The gift of perfume to a flower is a special grace like genius or like beauty, and never becomes common or cheap.

Nature exists for man no more than she does for monkeys, and is as regardless of his life or pleasure or success as she is of the fleas. Her waves will drown him, her fire burn him, and her earth devour him, her storms and lightning smite him, as if he were only a dog.

The pleasure and value of every walk or journey we take may be doubled to us by carefully noting down the impressions it makes upon us.