What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
Willa CatherRead
The air and the earth interpenetrated in the warm gusts of spring; the soil was full of sunlight, and the sunlight full of red dust. The air one breathed was saturated with earthy smells, and the grass under foot had a reflection of the blue sky in it.
Interpretation
This quote beautifully captures the essence of spring, portraying the interconnectedness of the air, earth, and sunlight in a vivid, sensory experience.
Willa Cather's quote evokes the vibrant and rejuvenating atmosphere of spring, illustrating how the various elements of nature—the air, earth, and sunlight—come together to create a rich tapestry of sensations. The imagery of the soil, sunlight, and scents illustrates the transformative power of the season, inviting readers to fully immerse themselves in the beauty and renewal of the natural world.
In practice
This quote could be used in a nature appreciation workshop to emphasize the beauty of spring.
What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
That is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great.
Our tree became the talking tree of the fairy tale; legends and stories nestled like birds in its branches.
Writing ought either to be the manufacture of stories for which there is a market demand - a business as safe and commendable as making soap or breakfast foods - or it should be an art, which is always a search for something for which there is no market demand, something new and untried, where the values are intrinsic and have nothing to do with standardized values.
This is reality, whether you like it or not--all those frivolities of summer, the light and shadow, the living mask of green that trembled over everything, they were lies, and this is what was underneath. This is the truth.
Only solitary men know the full joys of friendship. Others have their family; but to a solitary and an exile, his friends are everything.
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
Our health relies entirely on the vitality of our fellow species on Earth.
We can hold back neither the coming of the flowers nor the downward rush of the stream; sooner or later, everything comes to its fruition.
Nature, like a loving mother, is ever trying to keep land and sea, mountain and valley, each in its place, to hush the angry winds and waves, balance the extremes of heat and cold, of rain and drought, that peace, harmony and beauty may reign supreme.
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
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