And so in my mind's eye these coastal forms merge and blend in a shifting, kaleidoscopic pattern in which there is no finality, no ultimate and fixed reality - earth becoming fluid as the sea itself.

But man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself.

One way to open your eyes is to ask yourself, "What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew i would never see it again?

Conservation is a cause that has no end. There is no point at which we will say our work is finished.

Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.

The human race is challenged more than ever before to demonstrate our mastery, not over nature but of ourselves.

Science is part of the reality of living; it is the what, the how, and the why of everything in our experience.

We cannot have peace among men whose hearts find delight in killing any living creature.

Knowing what I do, there would be no future peace for me if I kept silent.

The more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe about us, the less taste we shall have for destruction.

Drink in the beauty and wonder at the meaning of what you see.

It's always been a gift with me, hearing music the way I do. I don't know where it comes from, it's just there and I don't question it.

What destruction have I been blessed by?

Sighing restlessly, the boundless sea broke huge rollers into white cream which hissed hungrily up to the tideline.

If people don't learn to work by the time they're in their 30s, they're never very productive.

I've been to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It's a tower, and it's leaning. You look at it, but nothing happens, so then you look for someplace to get a sandwich.

It is always understood as an expression of condemnation when anything in Literature or Art is said to be done for effect; and yet to produce an effect is the aim and end of both.

I never use the words HUMANIST or HUMANITARIAN, as it seems to me that to be human is to be capable of the most heinous crimes in nature.

I want to thank you my sweet darling for digging in the mud and picking me up.

The olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.

In the end, I wonder if the true movement of the world might not be a voice raised in song.