Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings.

There is that in the glance of a flower which may at times control the greatest of creation's braggart lords.

The gross heathenism of civilization has generally destroyed nature, and poetry, and all that is spiritual.

There is a love of wild nature in everybody, an ancient mother-love showing itself whether recognized or no, and however covered by cares and duties

It is a vast wilderness of rocks in a sea of light, colored and glowing like oak and maple in autumn, when the sun gold is richest

In drying plants, botanists often dry themselves. Dry words and dry facts will not fire hearts.

Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings.