“Women are about the best lovers of nature, after all; at least of nature in her milder and more familiar forms.”

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.

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.

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.

Unadulterated, unsweetened observations are what the real nature-lover craves. No man can invent incidents and traits as interesting as the reality.

My life has been a fortunate one; I was born under a lucky star. It seems as if both wind and tide had favoured me.

We are all familiar with the argument: Make war dreadful enough, and there will be no war. And we none of us believe it.

I’m lucky to have family around me. Otherwise, I’ll be taking the risk of falling in love with myself.

The Forsytes were resentful of something, not individually, but as a family; this resentment expressed itself in an added perfection of raiment, an exuberance of family cordiality, an exaggeration of family importance, and the sniff.

We kiss again and this time, it feels familiar.

From morning till night, sounds drift from the kitchen, most of them familiar and comforting. . . . On days when warmth is the most important need of the human heart, the kitchen is the place you can find it; it dries the wet sock, it cools the hot little brain.

We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange.

People want to know about the details of politicians, what they like doing in their spare time, about their families. I think that’s human.

Few men have been admired of their familiars.