The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter woods.

We need another and a wiser and a perhaps more mystical concept of animals.

Do no dishonour to the earth least you dishonour the spirit of man.

Do no dishonor to the earth lest you dishonor the spirit of man.

We of the age of the machines, having delivered ourselves of nocturnal enemies, now have a dislike of night itself. With lights and ever more lights, we drive the holiness and beauty of night back to the forests and the sea.

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.

Touch the earth, feel the earth, her plains, her valleys, her hills, and her seas; rest your spirit in her solitary places.

If gardeners will forget a little the phrase, watering the plants and think of watering as a matter of watering the earth under the plants, keeping up its moisture content and gauging its need, the garden will get on very well.

Nature is a part of our humanity, and without some awareness and experience of that divine mystery man ceases to be man.

The quality of life, which in the ardour of spring was personal and sexual, becomes social in midsummer.

The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools.

As well expect Nature to answer your human values as to come into your house and sit in a chair.

Poor body, time and the long years were the first tailors to teach you the merciless use of clothes. Though some scold today because you are too much seen, to my mind, you are not seen fully enough or often enough when you are beautiful.

Expect Nature to answer to your human values as to come into your house and sit in a chair. The economy of nature, its checks and balances, its measurements of competing life -- all this is its great marvel and has an ethic of its own.

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.

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. I have heard them all, and of the three elemental voices, that of ocean is the most awesome, beautiful and varied.

Learn to reverence night and to put away the vulgar fear of it, for, with the banishment of night from the experience of man, there vanishes as well a religious emotion, a poetic mood, which gives depth to the adventure of humanity. By day, space is one with the earth and with man -- it is his sun that is shining, his clouds that are floating past; at night, space is his no more.

Our civilization has fallen out of touch with night. With lights, we drive the holiness and beauty of night back to the forests and the sea; the little villages, the crossroads even, will have none of it. Are modern folk, perhaps, afraid of night? Do they fear that vast serenity, the mystery of infinite space, the austerity of stars?

The creatures with whom we share the planet and whom, in our arrogance, we wrongly patronize for being lesser forms, they are not brethren, they are not underlings, they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the Earth.

Animals are not brethren, they are not underlings. They are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time.