In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life, – no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground, – my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space, – all mean egotism vanishes. […]

For the eye is fastened on the life, and slights the circumstance. Every chemical substance, every plant, every animal in its growth, teaches the unity of cause, the variety of appearance.

We are taught by great actions that the universe is the property of every individual in it. Every rational creature has all nature for his dowry and estate.

Life is not intellectual or critical, but sturdy. Its chief good is for well-mixed people who can enjoy what they find, without question. Nature hates peeping, and our mothers speak her very sense when they say, ‘Children, eat your victuals, and say no more of it.’

Nature is no spendthrift, but takes the shortest way to her ends.

The book of Nature is the book of Fate. She turns the gigantic pages – leaf after leaf, never returning one.

Nature and literature are subjective phenomena; every evil and every good thing is a shadow which we cast.

Everything in Nature contains all the powers of Nature. Everything is made of one hidden stuff.

We are as much strangers in nature, as we are aliens from God. We do not understand the notes of birds. The fox and the deer run away from us; the bear and tiger rend us. We do not know the uses of more than a few plants, as corn and the apple, the potato […]

The only straight line in Nature that I remember is the spider swinging down from a twig.