I had been educated in the rhythms of the mountain, rhythms in which change was never fundamental, only cyclical. The same sun appeared each morning, swept over the valley, and dropped behind the peak. The snows that fell in winter always melted in the spring.

Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.

We are all filled with a longing for the wild. There are few culturally sanctioned antidotes for this yearning. We were taught to feel shame for such a desire. We grew our hair long and used it to hide our feelings. But the shadow of Wild Woman still lurks behind us during our days and in our nights. No matter where we are, the shadow that trots behind us is definitely four-footed.

The highest treason, the meanest treason, is to deny the holiness of this little blue planet on which we journey through the cold void of space.

Ask the beasts and they will teach you the beauty of this earth.

There's no palette as rich as a garden. And the intensity of it - I make this statement all the time: You can't plan nature; you court her.