A person does not grow from the ground like a vine or a tree, one is not part of a plot of land. Mankind has legs so it can wander.
There are tree main bulwarks of defence against new thoughts: to pay no heed, to give no credence, and finally to assert that it had already long existed.
I drive as fast as four tire swings hanging from a tree branch in the middle of winter. I also make love with as much speed and rotation.
Half man, half tree, I have patience—and leaves. Forest fires make me sweat. Let’s go for a walk. You’ll have to push me in a wheelbarrow.
He’s as tall as a tree, but he fights like a rose bush. What’s with all the scratching? I should cut him down in the name of romance.
I love the sound of the trees in the breeze. If the forest is so clearly musical, why can’t it play the guitar while I sing Nirvana covers?
A tree with red leaves is like an old man with gray hair. Likewise, my love for you was blue, but now it’s orange, and that’s a compliment.
Together kabobs make the world better than all the Bobs combined. Well, at least ever since Bob Ross moved on to the land of the happy trees.
Blue skies, 77 degrees, and palm trees—I’m living the dream. Still, I could go for a nap, or a cup of coffee as large as my bathtub.
I want a chainsaw very badly, because I think cutting down a tree would be unbelievably satisfying. I have asked for a chainsaw for my birthday, but I think I'll probably be given jewelry instead.
When I was in primary school, my best friend was a boy and we always goofed around, climbed trees, got holes in my trousers and muddied all my tops and things like that; a complete nightmare for the washing, but great fun.
Schweitzer is where I found snowboarding; it will always have a special place in my heart and is a top-notch ski resort. It has some of the best bowl tree skiing in the world and breathtaking views of Sandpoint and Lake Pend Oreille.
I came from a house full of books, so I took reading for granted. I was an outdoorsy little kid, too, so I got the best of both worlds by taking books up trees and reading there.
Olive trees are intimate creatures, eloquent in their twistedness. It's easy to understand why the ancients believed human spirits could be trapped inside them.
Her concept of paradise was something more immediate: a book and a blanket beneath a tree, where she might read in peace.
Dead tree branches rattled, the cold wind seethed, it prattled of abominations about to unfold. A lone wolf howled, the full moon it prowled, ready for evils untold.
When the last tree has been cut down, the last fish caught, the last river poisoned, only then will we realize that one cannot eat money.
I've always - I grew up on the old-style traditional type of golf course, tree lined and all small greens, big undulations. And Oakmont just fit my eye.
When I was a child, my December weekends were spent making cards, decorating the tree, hanging the wreath and preparing brandy butter and peppermint creams.
I started very early, from five or six years old, to climb. To climb trees, to climb rocks everywhere I could. At some point, of course, I used a rope.
Control.... is not what we need. What we need is to bend to the tempest like pine and palm trees - flexible, adaptive, attuned, yet fully rooted in our principles.
