NOT, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
Gerard Manley HopkinsRead
Look at the stars! Look, look up at the skies! Oh look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air! The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there!
Interpretation
This quote encourages us to appreciate the beauty of the night sky and the wonder of nature.
Gerard Manley Hopkins' quote invites us to gaze upwards at the stars and the skies, appreciating their beauty and the sense of magic they evoke. It reflects a deep reverence for nature and the cosmos, suggesting that there is a mystical quality to the stars that inspires awe and wonder in those who take the time to observe them.
In practice
During a stargazing event, one might say, 'Look at the stars! Look, look up at the skies!' to inspire others to appreciate the view.
NOT, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the last lights off the black West went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs— Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Let Him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east.
Birds buildbut not I build; no, but strain, Time's eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes. Mine,O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.
Nothing is so beautiful as spring - when weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring the ear, it strikes like lightning to hear him sing.
For Christ plays in ten thousand places,/ Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his/ To the Father through the features of men’s faces.
With every drop of water you drink, every breath you take, you're connected to the sea. No matter where on Earth you live.
Sing a song of seasons; something bright in all, flowers in the summer, fires in the fall.
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.
Biological diversity is messy. It walks, it crawls, it swims, it swoops, it buzzes. But extinction is silent, and it has no voice other than our own.
It's easy for people in an air-conditioned room to continue with the policies of destruction of Mother Earth. We need instead to put ourselves in the shoes of families in Bolivia and worldwide that lack water and food and suffer misery and hunger.
My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing.
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