Henry Beston Quotes
The three great elemental sounds in nature are the sound of rain, the sound of wind in a primeval wood, and the sound of outer ocean on a beach.
Animals are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time.
Touch the earth, love the earth, honour the earth, her plains, her valleys, her hills, and her seas; rest your spirit in her solitary places.
The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter woods.
Wolves are not our brothers; they are not our subordinates, either. They are another nation, caught up just like us in the complex web of time and life.
The seas are the hearts blood of the earth. Plucked up and kneaded by the sun and the moon, the tides are systole and diastole of earth's veins.
It is only when we are aware of the earth and of the earth as poetry that we truly live.
Into every empty corner, into all forgotten things and nooks, nature struggles to pour life, pouring life into the dead, life into life itself.
For a moment of night we have a glimpse of ourselves and of our world islanded in a stream of stars - pilgrims of mortality, voyaging between horizons across the eternal seas of space and time.
Our fantastic civilization has fallen out of touch with many aspects of nature, and with none more completely than with night.
The adventure of the sun is the great natural drama by which we live, and not to have joy in it and awe of it, not to share in it, is to close a dull door on nature's sustaining and poetic spirit.
As well expect Nature to answer your human values as to come into your house and sit in a chair.
The quality of life, which in the ardour of spring was personal and sexual, becomes social in midsummer.
Poetry is as necessary to comprehension as science. It is as impossible to live without reverence as it is without joy.
Nature is a part of our humanity, and without some awareness and experience of that divine mystery man ceases to be man.
A garden is the mirror of a mind. It is a place of life, a mystery of green moving to the pulse of the year, and pressing on and pausing the whole to its own inherent rhythms.
The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools.
...Nature has its unexpected and unappreciated mercies.