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Yet, so far from laboring to know the forbidden tree of worldly pleasures and its various fruits, man gives himself up to a careless and thoughtless state of life, and yields to the lust of the flesh, not considering that this lust is really the forbidden tree.
Every flower is a soul blossoming in nature.
I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.
The gods created certain kinds of beings to replenish our bodies... they are the trees and the plants and the seeds.
Gently I stir a white feather fan,_x000D__x000D_With open shirt sitting in a green wood._x000D__x000D_I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone;_x000D__x000D_A wind from the pine-tree trickles on my bare head.
Watering the flowers and the trees, whispering to them, talking to them. Then, they will grow to be more bright and luxuriant.
I don't think anyone 'finds' joy. Rather, we cultivate it by searching for the preciousness of small things, the ordinary miracles, that strengthen our hearts so we can keep them open to what is difficult: delight in taking a shower or a slow walk that has no destination, in touching something soft, in noticing the one small, black bird who sings every morning from the top of the big old pine tree ... I need to give my attention to the simple things that give me pleasure with the same fervor I have been giving it to the complex things with which I drive myself crazy.
If you sleep, Desire grows in you Like a vine in the forest. Like a monkey in the forest You jump from tree to tree, Never finding the fruit - From life to life, Never finding peace. If you are filled with desire Your sorrows swell Like the grass after the rain. But if you subdue desire Your sorrows shall fall from you Like drops of water from a lotus flower.
Some young folks have wind-fall minds, prematurely detached from the tree of knowledge for a life-long sourness and pettiness.
Mother loved the wind. When I was growing up, she would recite this poem to me. Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I, But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by. So it is with God.
When you see the trees swaying to the tune of a gentle breeze... think of it as a dance in your honor.
Reforesting the earth is possible, given a human touch.
Life does not come with instructions on how to live, but it does come with trees, sunsets, smiles and laughter, so enjoy your day.
Temperance is a tree which as for its root very little contentment, and for its fruit calm and peace.
The worldly comforts are not for me. I am like a traveler, who takes rest under a tree in the shade and then goes on his way.
I am as wrapped up in her as a vine that clings to a tree seeking for sustenance. She's tied me to her for eternity. She's my home. She's my reason for being. To win and hold her heart is my only purpose.
It's the flock, the grove, that matters. Our responsibility is to species, not to specimens; to communities, not to individuals.
Ah! the year is slowly dying,_x000D__x000D_And the wind in tree-top sighing,_x000D__x000D_Chant his requiem._x000D__x000D_Thick and fast the leaves are falling,_x000D__x000D_High in air wild birds are calling,_x000D__x000D_Nature's solemn hymn.
Garden writing is often very tame, a real waste when you think how opinionated, inquisitive, irreverent and lascivious gardeners themselves tend to be. Nobody talks much about the muscular limbs, dark,swollen buds, strip-tease trees and unholy beauty that have made us all slaves of the Goddess Flora.
My grandfather was a giant of a man ... When he walked, the earth shook. When he laughed, the birds fell out of the trees. His hair caught fire from the sun. His eyes were patches of sky.
We are the same as plants, as trees, as other people, as the rain that falls. We consist of that which is around us, we are the same as everything.
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