But when you dwell in a house you mislike, you will look out of a window a deal more than those that are content with their dwelling.

The well of Providence is deep. It’s the buckets we bring to it that are small.

Autumn is full of leave-taking.

The past is only the present become invisible and mute; and because it is invisible and mute, its memorized glances and its murmurs are infinitely precious. We are tomorrow‘s past.

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

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

Green is the fresh emblem of well founded hopes. In blue the spirit can wander, but in green it can rest.

it is the way of lovers to think that none can bless or succour their love but their own selves. And there is a touch of truth in it, maybe more than a touch.

Fragrance is the voice of inanimate things.

Autumn is full of leave-taking. In September the swallows are chattering of destination and departure like a crowd of tourists.

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?

It’s the folks that depend on us for this and for the other that we most do miss.

Every time I meet a tree, if I am truly awake, I stand in awe before it. I listen to its voice, a silent sermon moving me to the depths, touching my heart, and stirring up within my soul a yearning to give my all.

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

No accident of environment or circumstance need cut us off from nature. … It does not matter how shut in we are. Opportunity for wide experience is of small acccount in this as in other things; it is depth that brings understanding and life.

For the more a soul conforms to the sanity of others, the more does it become insane.

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

For the world is founded and built up on death, and the reality of death is neither to be questioned nor feared. Death is a dark dream, but it is not a nightmare. It is mankind‘s lack of pity, mankind’s fatal propensity for torture, that is the nightmare.

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.

Love unspoken is the most tremendous force in the world. One is amazed at the way in which people waste their time making speeches, agitating, praying, even. They might save their breath. The great lovers of the world, in silence, rule the world.