quotes about nature beauty
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From the Andes Mountains to Monument Valley, from Niagara Falls to Kilauea, nature is truly awe-inspiring. Beyond natural marvels, ecosystems on Earth are so vast and varied. Nature’s beauty and wonder are literally everywhere, waiting to delight and uplift us.
It seems we’re not the only ones who find inspiration in nature. Countless storytellers over the years have examined the endless beauty of the great outdoors. We’ve assembled some of our favorite quotes about nature to motivate and inspire you.
1. “Everything about her is captivating, like the aftermath of a storm. People aren’t supposed to get pleasure out of the destruction Mother Nature is capable of, but we want to stare anyway.” —Colleen Hoover, Never Never
2. “Sunlight is the life-blood of Nature. Mother Earth looks at us with such dull, soulless eyes, when the sunlight has died away from out of her. It makes us sad to be with her then; she does not seem to know us or to care for us.” —Jerome K. Jerome, Three Men in a Boat
3. “A tree’s most important means of staying connected to other trees is a ‘wood wide web’ of soil fungi that connects vegetation in an intimate network that allows the sharing of an enormous amount of information and goods.” —Peter Wohlleben, The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate—Discoveries from a Secret World
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Natures Beauty Quotes
Quotes tagged as "natures-beauty"
Showing 1-30 of 187
“The path remained steady for a time before dwindling down to dusty silt. The sky opened above as trees fell away on either side. To their right, the land dipped down into a tiny, almost impossibly beautiful valley. A stream ran through its lowest point, its bank lined in pink lupine. Before that, tall, dark green grass sparkled with white flashes in the sunlight. Late season dandelions and breathy, tiny white flowers on slender stems were avoided by bees, while purple thistles and asters thronged with them."I could do with a little bit of a break," she said, looking longingly at the soft, moss-covered braes above the tinkling water.The prince made a big show of cautiously surveying the scene. Aurora Rose hid a smile. Nothing seemed harmful. "All right," he finally said. "My face could definitely do with a wash. Feels all dusty."They stepped down into the quiet valley that smelled like all of summer crushed into a single flower.”
―
Liz Braswell,
Once Upon a Dream
“I still dream in pictures and color, always the world of my childhood. I see the purple Judas trees at Easter lighting up the roadsides and terraces of the town. Ochre cliffs made of cinnamon powder. Autumn clouds rolling along the ground of the hills, and the patchwork of wet oak leaves on the grass. The shape of a rose petal. And my parents' faces, which will never grow any older."But it is strange how scent brings it all back too. I only have to smell certain aromas, and I am back in a certain place with a certain feeling."The comforting past smelled of heliotrope and cherry and sweet almond biscuits: close-up smells, flowers you had to put your nose to as the sight faded from your eyes. The scents of that childhood past had already begun to slip away: Maman's apron with blotches of game stew; linen pressed with faded lavender; the sheep in the barn. The present, or what had so very recently been the present, was orange blossom infused with hope.”
―
Deborah Lawrenson,
The Sea Garden
“And there were so many places to go. Thickets of bramble. Fallen trees. Ferns, and violets, and gorse, paths all lined with soft green moss. And in the very heart of the wood, there was a clearing, with a circle of stones, and an old well in the middle, next to a big dead oak tree, and everything- fallen branches, standing stones, even the well, with its rusty pump- draped and festooned and piled knee-high with ruffles and flounces of strawberries, with blackbirds picking over the fruit, and the scent like all of summer.It wasn't like the rest of the farm. Narcisse's farm is very neat, with everything set out in its place. A little field for sunflowers: one for cabbages; one for squash; one for Jerusalem artichokes. Apple trees to one side; peaches and plums to the other. And in the polytunnels, there were daffodils, tulips, freesias; and in season, lettuce, tomatoes, beans. All neatly planted, in rows, with nets to keep the birds from stealing them.But here there were no nets, or polytunnels, or windmills to frighten away the birds. Just that clearing of strawberries, and the old well in the circle of stones. There was no bucket in the well. Just the broken pump, and the trough, and a grate to cover the hole, which was very deep, and not quite straight, and filled with ferns and that swampy smell. And if you put your eye to the grate, you could see a roundel of sky reflected in the water, and little pink flowers growing out from between the cracks in the old stone. And there was a kind of draught coming up from under the ground, as if something was hiding there and breathing, very quietly.”
―
Joanne Harris,
The Strawberry Thief
“The loveliness of the view outside stopped me in my tracks. The mountain fell away before me, a carpet of green made greener by the luminous dawn staining the clouds with pinks and golds. The mountains themselves were lightly ensnowed, though there was no threat of a sequel in that cerulean canopy. Within the hinterlands of the prospect heaved the great beast of the sea with its patchy pelt of ice floes.”
―
Heather Fawcett,
Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries
“It rained in Hampshire yesterday, a soft autumn storm that brought down hardly any leaves. The dahlias are no longer in stem, and frost has withered the chrysanthemums, but the air smells divine, like old leaves and wet bark, and ripe apples. Have you ever noticed that each month has its own smell? May and October are the nicest-smelling months, in my opinion.”
―
Lisa Kleypas,
Love in the Afternoon
“The woods carry sounds in their slow rhythms, sounds that only a heart can hear.”
―
Kira Jane Buxton,
Hollow Kingdom
“At the lawn's edge, a grand set of graystone stairs led into Lady Ashbury’s rose garden. Pink blooms hugged the trellises, alive with the warm drone of diligent bees hovering about their yellow hearts. I passed beneath the arbor, unlatched the kissing gate and started down the Long Walk: a stretch of gray cobblestones set amongst a carpet of white alyssum. Halfway along, tall hornbeam hedges gave way to the miniature yew that bordered the Egeskov Garden. I blinked as a couple of topiaries came to life, then smiled at myself and the pair of indignant ducks that had wandered up from the lake and now stood regarding me with shiny black eyes.At the end of the Egeskov Garden was the second kissing gate, the forgotten sister (for there is always a forgotten sister), victim of the wiry jasmine tendrils. On the other side lay the Icarus fountain, and beyond, at the lake’s edge, the boathouse.”
―
Kate Morton,
The House at Riverton
“The sun shone with all the gaiety and promise of early summer. The new green leaves glistened with it, and the apple and pear blossoms, just past their prime, drifted in the warm air like white butterflies, powdering the orchard floor with their bruised petals.”
―
Louisa Morgan,
The Age of Witches
“Our experience of nature is becoming more and more about what we see on our screens, and less about actually being outside and experiencing it for ourselves. Crouched on the fellside, nose to flower with Purple Saxifrage, I had felt such wonder at just being present with another organism, the kind you can only experience when you’re there, on the mountainside, or in the meadow, or under the trees. It’s impossible to get that same, raw feeling from a television documentary, from our social media feeds or even from a book like this one.True appreciation of nature requires us to form real life bonds with it. [...] I think plants can offer us a lot in this regard, and the fact they can’t move actually allows us to spend time with them in a way that you just can’t with many animals.”
―
Leif Bersweden,
Where the Wildflowers Grow: My Botanical Journey through Britain and Ireland
“What if I had made different choices from the start? What if I had stuck around to watch another year of seasons spin here in Oxford, staying to see the daffodils bloom or to wander beneath the privet tunnel hand in hand with Fisher? What if we had kept right on kissing until the naked ladies emerged near the Osage orange? What if I had lingered long enough to see cape jasmine arrive, her voluptuous white bundles an aromatic call for summer love? Or even longer, when the spider lilies burst open in the fall and the yellow autumn light fell low among missy roots? What if I had stayed through winter, forming snow angels with my lover beneath the icy cedar boughs? What if I had not let fear defeat me after Fisher knelt before me in my mother's backyard garden, ring in his hand and happy-ever-after in his heart?”
―
Julie Cantrell,
Perennials
“What if I had made different choices from the start? What if I had stuck around to watch another year of seasons spin here in Oxford, staying to see the daffodils bloom or to wander beneath the privet tunnel hand in hand with Fisher? What if we had kept right on kissing until the naked ladies emerged near the Osage orange? What if I had lingered long enough to see cape jasmine arrive, her voluptuous white bundles an aromatic call for summer love? Or even longer, when the spider lilies burst open in the fall and the yellow autumn light fell low among mossy roots? What if I had stayed through winter, forming snow angels with my lover beneath the icy cedar boughs? What if I had not let fear defeat me after Fisher knelt before me in my mother's backyard garden, ring in his hand and happy-ever-after in his heart?”
―
Julie Cantrell,
Perennials
“I've stayed here in Oxford as the seasons have changed, watching summer turn to autumn turn to winter turn to spring. And in the coming cycle, I will be here once more. Season after season, year after year, as crocuses make way for summer honeysuckle, as sun-loving lantana ease out for the quieter mums, as pansies blanket the wintry town and as spring beauties burst forth again behind the snow. I'll still be here with Fisher by my side. Because this spring the stars aligned, as Marian promised they would. I picked a mid-March spray of spirea, made myself a bridal bouquet, and gave my whole heart to the man whose heart was given whole to me.”
―
Julie Cantrell,
Perennials
“The canopy is high, like a cathedral, and I glide through a landscape of light and shadow. Ferns cascade from the trunks amid pink lichens the size of measle spots, and the cypress knees stick up from beneath the surface like the hats of submerged gnomes. I spot a delicate "Florida butterfly" orchid, with a heart-shaped blotch at its center, clinging to a trunk.”
―
Virginia Hartman,
The Marsh Queen
“I come around the curve of a hardwood hammock to witness two herons, a great white and a great blue, having what looks like a territorial dispute. I slow the canoe. Another white heron stands in the shallows a short way off, either fishing or waiting to see who'll win. The white and the blue keep flying up, each trying to warn the other off, angling their wings so the light catches them first one way and then another.I sketch them fast, trying to record the unintended grace of their motion as well as the force of their intention. While they're concerned with power and territory and fishing rights, they have no idea how stunning the exchange makes them look. The blue heron, in particular, shows me the richness of her color from every angle.”
―
Virginia Hartman,
The Marsh Queen
“Regrettably, we believe we own the earth, the trees, the mountains, flowing rivers, and many other things, but we are all owned by nature.”
―
Shree Shambav,
Twenty + One - 21 Short Stories
“And the thought of her garden---ballast and bread, those blooms and vines and spinney sprigs. Herbs that comforted, cured. Growing conditions had been ideal that summer. Resplendent. Delphinium spires soared their prettiest periwinkle blue; roses clambered over the arbor, luxuriant ivy slumped languidly like legions of lounging ladies. Myrtle gleamed so waxen Lavender almost saw a miniature of her face reflected back in its leaves. Ferns forested. Hollyhocks hollered their joy. Aromatic too, pears from her mother's tree. Even the moss spread ardent, brashly ambitious. The borage grew boisterous. And yarrow, always yarrow. And purple lavender, her namesake. Though some flower dictionaries ascribed a wary, ambiguous meaning to lavender, her mother long ago had asserted the contrary, that lavender equated calmness, serenity.”
―
Jeanette Lynes,
The Apothecary's Garden
“Though the garden brought no profit in winter, it had its own beauty. The white canopy over the glass house sparkled on bright days. The gazing ball grew a crystalline moon. Downy snow on the herb beds and flower gardens caught the light in soft, variant blues and mauves. Reddily clustered berries against the drifts formed a pretty picture. A frosted crescent blanketed the bench where Lavender and her father used to sit, listening to Amaryllis Fitch's divine harp concerts. And the winter garden wasn't silent, either. Chickadees in their black caps twittered about, and Lavender left a pan of seeds out for them. Rabbits' tracks crooked across the slumbering perennials and bulbs.”
―
Jeanette Lynes,
The Apothecary's Garden
“These were lonely moments on my isolated farm, but I found beauty in them. Tatters of cloud shone silver agains the violet sky, shimmering in the night wind. The breeze rippled the leaves of the apple trees clustered between my place and the shore of Hood Canal, and it tinged the air with the scent of salt water.I felt the pull of the canal as a physical sensation. Its tides seemed to resonate with the tides of my own flowing blood, its life calling to the life in my veins. Sometimes the pull was so strong I had to drop what I what I was doing and go to the shore, driven by a need to touch the water, to feel its cool, salty texture on my fingers or washing over my bare feet.”
―
Louisa Morgan,
The Witch's Kind
“Bald eagles wheeled above the Sound, their commanding silhouettes outlined by blue sky. Belted kingfishers, with their fluffy topknots, often left their perches in the trees along the beach to flutter their blue-and-white plumage past my bunker. They eyed me through the unglazed window with fearless curiosity. River otters scooched along the beach below me sometimes, and once in a while I saw an orca breach, carving an arc between sea and sky. Their sleek black-and-white beauty was no less majestic than that of the eagles, and I cheered softly when I caught sight of them.”
―
Louisa Morgan,
The Witch's Kind
“Behind her the rhododendron was at its peak, blossoms shining like pink stars above her head. The air was sweet with the scent of new leaves, and as I came down the path, a rufous hummingbird flashed between the camellia bush and the old cedar tree, a tiny arrow of scarlet and green.”
―
Louisa Morgan,
The Witch's Kind
“The first rays of the sun charmed curls of mist from the grass of Sheep Meadow, fairy clouds that sparkled silver against the green backdrop of the pasture. Harriet slowed her steps to take in the sight, savoring the slant of spring light and the emerald glow of new leaves before she crossed the meadow into the chilly shadows of the woods.”
―
Louisa Morgan,
The Age of Witches
“It is a bright day; the snow-topped hedges sparkle in the sun. Kate watches as a waxwing forages for rowan berries, its crest quivering. It chirps as it is joined by its mate. Starlings sweep overhead, making shapes in the sky.”
―
Emilia Hart,
Weyward
“Whenever Daddy would take me to the ocean, I'd see it in its beauty--the blues and turquoises of the water, the ripples and movements that drenched my ears in soothing sounds. But Daddy never took me there during the storms. We didn't go to shore when a hurricane came or the waves crashed high and hard onto the sand. What Daddy had come to know was the dichotomy, the mixing of the beauty and destruction, the awe and devastation that the force of nature could unleash.”
―
Meagan Church,
The Last Carolina Girl
“I fell asleep there in the quiet rustling of the tree branches that swayed in the breeze. I slept alongside the souls of those I'd never known, as the stars sparkled overhead like glitter and the crickets sang their song to the Carolina girl in their midst.”
―
Meagan Church,
The Last Carolina Girl
“He saddled up the paint and joined the myriad greens of the late summer forest, where a sudden emergence of mushrooms had invaded the valley after last night’s rain. Staying on the low trail he followed the creek along its winding incision through dark stands of hemlocks and white pine, where the sky was all but shut out. Even in deep shadow the creek boiled with white luminescence. The tumbling water seemed to conjure bright light out of nothing. Like patches of snow in moonlight.”
―
Mark Warren,
Last of the Pistoleers
“Nature works like a divine touch to my soul!”
―
Somya Kedia
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Beauty In Nature Quotes
Quotes tagged as "beauty-in-nature"
Showing 1-30 of 272
“If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happened better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb. (Don't Hesitate)”
―
Mary Oliver,
Swan: Poems and Prose Poems
“It was a sort of ferocious, quiet beauty, the sort that wouldn't let you admire it. The sort of beauty that always hurt.”
―
Maggie Stiefvater,
The Dream Thieves
“The feeling of awed wonder that science can give us is one of the highest experiences of which the human psyche is capable. It is a deep aesthetic passion to rank with the finest that music and poetry can deliver. It is truly one of the things that make life worth living and it does so, if anything, more effectively if it convinces us that the time we have for living is quite finite.”
―
Richard Dawkins,
Unweaving the Rainbow: Science, Delusion and the Appetite for Wonder
“Beauty doesn't have to be about anything. What's a vase about? What's a sunset or a flower about? What, for that matter, is Mozart's Twenty-third Piano Concerto about?”
―
Douglas Adams,
The Salmon of Doubt
“Compassion is all inclusive. Compassion knows no boundaries. Compassion comes with awareness, and awareness breaks all narrow territories.”
―
Amit Ray,
Nonviolence: The Transforming Power
“The beauty of that June day was almost staggering. After the wet spring, everything that could turn green had outdone itself in greenness and everything that could even dream of blooming or blossoming was in bloom and blossom. The sunlight was a benediction. The breezes were so caressingly soft and intimate on the skin as to be embarrassing.”
―
Dan Simmons,
Drood
“You are only as beautiful as your last action ...”
―
Stephen Richards
“Bees blew like cake-crumbs through the golden air, white butterflies like sugared wafers, and when it wasn't raining a diamond dust took over which veiled and yet magnified all things”
―
Laurie Lee,
Cider with Rosie
“God is the most beautiful, and beauty is the expression of God. If you can't appreciate beauty in the world how can you understand God?”
―
Amit Ray,
Meditation: Insights and Inspirations
“Such beauty, he thought, was too perfect to have come about by mere chance. That day in the center of the Pacific was, to him, a gift crafted deliberately, compassionately, for him and Phil. Joyful and grateful in the midst of slow dying, the two men bathed in that day until sunset brought is, and their time in the doldrums, to an end.”
―
Laura Hillenbrand,
Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption
“From barren brown stems to glistening leaf-buds; from the leaf-buds to snowy virginity of bloom…It was like a flute song forgotten in another existence and remembered again. What? How? Why? This singing she heard that had nothing to do with her ears. The rose of the world was breathing out smell. It followed her through all her waking moments and caressed her in her sleep.”
―
Zora Neale Hurston,
Their Eyes Were Watching God
“What in heaven's name was the real essence of this beauty? Was it the precision of nature with its physical laws, or was it nature's mercilessness, ceaselessly resisting man's understanding?”
―
Kōbō Abe,
The Woman in the Dunes
“I’ve often thought of the forest as a living cathedral, but this might diminish what it truly is. If I have understood Koyukon teachings, the forest is not merely an expression or representation of sacredness, nor a place to invoke the sacred; the forest is sacredness itself. Nature is not merely created by God; nature is God. Whoever moves within the forest can partake directly of sacredness, experience sacredness with his entire body, breathe sacredness and contain it within himself, drink the sacred water as a living communion, bury his feet in sacredness, touch the living branch and feel the sacredness, open his eyes and witness the burning beauty of sacredness”
―
Richard Nelson,
The Island Within
“To watch the dawn emerge from the night undoubtedly gives a heavenly feeling! The fresh sun rays entwine with the dark horizon and peep out of the creek with tranquil grin.”
―
Supriya Kaur Dhaliwal
“All in the eye of the beholder - Some of the most destructive forces in the world (Fire & Water), can also have the power of beauty.”
―
Martin R. Lemieux
“There's one thing you can say for air pollution, you get utterly amazing sunrises.”
―
Terry Pratchett Neil Gaiman
“Think of a globe, a revolving globe on a stand. Think of a contour globe, whose mountain ranges cast shadows, whose continents rise in bas-relief above the oceans. But then: think of how it really is. These heights are just suggested; they’re there….when I think of walking across a continent I think of all the neighborhood hills, the tiny grades up which children drag their sleds. It is all so sculptured, three-dimensional, casting a shadow. What if you had an enormous globe that was so huge it showed roads and houses- a geological survey globe, a quarter of a mile to an inch- of the whole world, and the ocean floor! Looking at it, you would know what had to be left out: the free-standing sculptural arrangement of furniture in rooms, the jumble of broken rocks in the creek bed, tools in a box, labyrinthine ocean liners, the shape of snapdragons, walrus. Where is the one thing you care about in earth, the molding of one face? The relief globe couldn’t begin to show trees, between whose overlapping boughs birds raise broods, or the furrows in bark, where whole creatures, creatures easily visible, live our their lives and call it world enough. What do I make of all this texture? What does it mean about the kind of world in which I have been set down? The texture of the world, its filigree and scrollwork, means that there is a possibility for beauty here, a beauty inexhaustible in its complexity, which opens to my knock, which answers in me a call I do not remember calling, and which trains me to the wild and extravagant nature of the spirit I seek.”
―
Annie Dillard,
Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
“We create a meaningful life by what we accept as true and by what we create in the pursuit of truth, love, beauty, and adoration of nature.”
―
Kilroy J. Oldster,
Dead Toad Scrolls
“I am too rich already, for my eyes mint gold.- Coloured Money”
―
Mervyn Peake,
Collected Poems
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