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

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Beautiful Color Day Grow How Last Leave Light Old

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To strong, susceptible characters, the music of nature is not confined to sweet sounds.
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Even in rugged Scotland, nature is scarcely wilder than a mountain sheep, certainly a good way short of the ferity of the moose and caribou.
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I went to the Lake District to see what kind of a country it could be that would produce a Wordsworth.
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England is not a country of granite and marble, but of chalk, marl, and clay.
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The geologist is pretty sure to be an evolutionist.
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There is a great deal of speculation in the eye of an animal, but very little science.
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The smallest deed is better than the greatest intention.
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How many human aspirations are realized in their free, holiday-lives, and how many suggestions to the poet in their flight and song!
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The common bees will never use their sting upon the queen; if she is to be disposed of, they starve her to death, and the queen herself will sting nothing but royalty, nothing but a rival queen.
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The secret of happiness is something to do.
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Living in the city is a discordant thing, an unnatural thing.
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For anything worth having one must pay the price; and the price is always work, patience, love, self-sacrifice – no paper currency, no promises to pay, but the gold of real service.
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Joy in the universe, and keen curiosity about it all – that has been my religion.
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The city, a place to which one goes to do business, is a place where men overreach each other in the fight for money. But it is not a place in which one can live.
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The red squirrel is more common and less dignified than the gray, and oftener guilty of petty larceny about the barns and grain-fields.
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