The world is a kind of spiritual kindergarten where millions of bewildered infants are trying to spell "God" with the wrong blocks.
Edwin Arlington RobinsonRead
The stillness of October gold_x000D_ _x000D_ Went out like beauty from a face.
Interpretation
This quote reflects on the transient beauty of nature, particularly in October.
In this quote, Edwin Arlington Robinson evokes a sense of serene beauty found in the stillness of October, likening it to the fleeting beauty of a person's face. This comparison suggests that just like the vibrant hues of autumn are temporary, so too are moments of beauty in life, encouraging a reflection on the impermanence of both nature and human experience.
In practice
During a nature walk, I quoted, 'The stillness of October gold went out like beauty from a face.' as I admired the autumn scenery.
The world is a kind of spiritual kindergarten where millions of bewildered infants are trying to spell "God" with the wrong blocks.
Pity is like a knife, sometimes, and it may pierce one who employs it more shrewdly than the victim it would save.
And thus we all are nighing The truth we fear to know: Death will end our crying For friends that come and go.
I started following the news and seeing what was happening around the world with the polar ice caps melting and temperatures breaking records. I became concerned as an animal on this planet but also as a father.
The voice of the sea is seductive, never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander in abysses of solitude.
The practice of conservation must spring from a conviction of what is ethically and aesthetically right, as well as what is economically expedient. A thing is right only when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability, and beauty of the community, and the community includes the soil, waters, fauna, and flora, as well as people.
If we do not save the environment, then whatever we do in civil rights will be of no meaning, because then we will have the equality of extinction.
It has always been a happy thought to me that the creek runs on all night, new every minute, whether I wish it or know it or care, as a closed book on a shelf continues to whisper to itself its own inexhaustible tale.
Nature, to be commanded, must be obeyed.
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