Summer makes me drowsy. Autumn makes me sing. Winter's pretty lousy, but I hate Spring.

Summer makes me drowsy. Autumn makes me sing. Winter's pretty lousy, but I hate Spring.

Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature; they
being both the servants of his read more

Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature; they
being both the servants of his providence. Art is the perfection
of nature. Were the world now as it was the sixth day, there
were yet a chaos. Nature hath made one world, and art another.
In brief, all things are artificial; for nature is the art of
God.

On earth there is no heaven, but there are pieces of it.

On earth there is no heaven, but there are pieces of it.

Nature is full of infinite causes that have never occurred in experience.

Nature is full of infinite causes that have never occurred in experience.

In nature there are neither rewards nor punishments; there are consequences.

In nature there are neither rewards nor punishments; there are consequences.

It's hard for the modern generation to understand Thoreau, who lived beside a pond but didn't own water skis or read more

It's hard for the modern generation to understand Thoreau, who lived beside a pond but didn't own water skis or a snorkel.

Nature has no mercy at all. Nature says, "I'm going to snow. If you have on a bikini and no read more

Nature has no mercy at all. Nature says, "I'm going to snow. If you have on a bikini and no snowshoes, that's tough. I am going to snow anyway."

That man's best works should be such bungling imitations of Nature's infinite perfection, matters not much; but that he should read more

That man's best works should be such bungling imitations of Nature's infinite perfection, matters not much; but that he should make himself an imitation, this is the fact which Nature moans over, and deprecates beseechingly. Be spontaneous, be truthful, be free, and thus be individuals! is the song she sings through warbling birds, and whispering pines, and roaring waves, and screeching winds.

I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.