Nature is a mutable cloud which is always and never the same.
Interpretation
Nature constantly changes and yet has a consistent essence.
This quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson reflects on the paradoxical nature of the environment, suggesting that while the physical aspects of nature are ever-changing, there remains a fundamental quality that defines it. It highlights the dynamic yet consistent character of the natural world, prompting us to appreciate its beauty and resilience amidst constant transformation.
In practice
This quote can be shared during a nature walk to inspire reflection on the ever-changing landscapes.
It is plain that there is no separate essence called courage, no cup or cell in the brain, no vessel in the heart containing drops or atoms that make or give this virtue; but it is the right or healthy state of every man, when he is free to do that which is constitutional to him to do.
Few people have any next, they live from hand to mouth without a plan, and are always at the end of their line.
Men cease to interest us when we find their limitations
Tis the good reader that makes the good book; a good head cannot read amiss: in every book he finds passages which seem confidences or asides hidden from all else and unmistakeably meant for his ear.
The world belongs to the energetic.
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?
We are living in a science-fiction nightmare where children are gasping for breath on bad-air days because somebody gave money to a politician. And my children and the kids of millions of other Americans can no longer go fishing and eat their catch because somebody gave money to a politician.
When there was room on the ledge outside of the pots and boxes for a cat, the cat was there- in sunny weather- stretched at full length, asleep and blissful, with her furry belly to the sun and a paw curved over her nose.
I return to the newborn world, and the soft-soil fields, What their first birthing lifted to the shores Of light, and trusted to the wayward winds. First the Earth gave the shimmer of greenery And grasses to deck the hills; then over the meadows The flowering fields are bright with the color of springtime, And for all the trees that shoot into the air.
The Mojave is a big desert and a frightening one. Itβs as though nature tested a man for endurance and constancy to prove whether he was good enough to get to California.
A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, _x000D_ So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; _x000D_ And, deepening still the dreamlike charm, _x000D_ Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.
Every spring I hear the thrush singing in the glowing woods he is only passing through. His voice is deep, then he lifts it until it seems to fall from the sky. I am thrilled. I am grateful. Then, by the end of morning, he's gone, nothing but silence out of the tree where he rested for a night. And this I find acceptable. Not enough is a poor life. But too much is, well, too much. Imagine Verdi or Mahler every day, all day. It would exhaust anyone.
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