Animals and Nature

I am in fact a Hobbit (in all but size). I likegardens, trees, and unmechanized farmlands; I smoke a pipe, and like good plain food (unrefrigerated), but detest French cooking; I like, and even dare to wear in these dull days, ornamental waistcoats. I am fond of mushrooms (out of a field); have a very simple sense of humor (which even my appreciative critics find tiresome); I go to bed late and get up late (when possible). I do not travel much.

 

The problem of cat versus bird is as old as time. If we attempt to resolve it by legislation whoknows but what we may be called upon to takesides as well in the age old problems of dogversus cat, bird versus bird, or even bird versusworm. In my opinion, the State of Illinoisand its local governing bodies already haveenough to do without trying to control felinedelinquency.

 

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,

 

Do you know why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.

 

Neanderthal man listened to stories, if one may judge by the shape of his skull.

The man who thinks his wife, his baby, his house, his horse, his dog, and himself severally unequalled, is almost sure to he a good-humored person, though liable to be tedious at times.

The hens they all cackle, the roosters all beg, But I will not hatch, I will not hatch.

A poet is a bird of unearthly excellence, who escapes from his celestial realm arrives in this world warbling.

For millions of years, mankind lived just like the animals. Then something happened which unleashed the power of our imaginations, we learned to talk.

Nature herself has never attempted to effect great changes rapidly.

Horses lend us the wings we lack.

 

A horse is the projection of peoples' dreams about themselves - strong, powerful, beautiful - and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence.

The Pyramids will not last a moment compared with the daisy.

 

I never knew how soothing trees are—many trees and patches of open sunlight, and tree presences; it is almost like having another being.

I never saw a wild thing Sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough Without ever having felt sorry for itself.

The living self has one purpose only: to come into its own fullness of being, as a tree comes into full blossom, or a bird into spring beauty, or a tiger into luster.

Alone and warming his five wits,

 

The moan of doves in immemorial elms,

 

‘Tirra lirra,’ by the river

 

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,

 

On either side the river lie

 

So careful of the type she seems,

 

He clasps the crag with crookèd hands;

 

I come from haunts of coot and hern,