“There never was a happier or more devoted husband than the male bluebird. He is the gay champion and escort of the female at all times, and while she is sitting, he feeds her regularly.”

The pond-lily is a star and easily takes the first place among lilies; and the expeditions to her haunts, and the gathering her where she rocks upon the dark.

The dog is often quick to resent a kick, be it from man or beast, but I have never known him to show anger at the door that slammed to and hit him. Probably, if the door held him by his tail or his limb, it would quickly receive the imprint of his teeth.

I find that something one gets from Emerson in early life does not leave him when he grows old.

Living in the city is a discordant thing, an unnatural thing.

How many thorns of human nature are bristling conceits, buds of promise grown sharp for want of congenial climate.

I seldom go into a natural history museum without feeling as if I were attending a funeral.

Leap, and the net will appear.

The distribution of plants in a given locality is not more marked and defined than that of the birds. Show a botanist a landscape, and he will tell you where to look for the lady’s-slipper, the columbine, or the harebell.

It seems to me that evolution adds greatly to the wonder of life because it takes it out of the realm of the arbitrary, the exceptional, and links it to the sequence of natural causation.

Where country life is safe and enjoyable, where many of the conveniences and appliances of the town are joined to the large freedom and large benefits of the country, a high state of civilization prevails.

One may summon his philosophy when they are beaten in battle, not till then.

Joy in the universe, and keen curiosity about it all – that has been my religion.

I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order.

Fear, love, and hunger were the agents that developed the wits of the lower animals, as they were, of course, the prime factors in developing the intelligence of man.

Emerson stands apart from the other poets and essayists of New England, and of English literature generally, as of another order.

How beautiful the leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days.