The love of nature is a passion for those in whom it once lodges. It can never be quenched. It cannot change. It is a furious, burning, physical greed, as well as a state of mystical exaltation. It will have its own.

She had for so many years been trying to be like other people, that she was now like nothing in heaven or earth.

We are tomorrow's past.

If you stop to be kind, you must swerve often from your path.

Who can say which is the greater sign of creative power, the sun with its planet system swinging with governed impetus to some incalculable end, or the gold sallow catkin with its flashing system of little flies?

The more anybody wants a thing, the more they do think others want it.

Nature's music is never over; her silences are pauses, not conclusions.