Too many trees are killed to print the words of people who may not have all that much to say, and authors and journalists are equally culpable in this regard.
It's really been a long-term dream of mine to have an alternative to wood-based paper. Over half of the trees cut in the world are cut for paper products.
It's the little things citizens do. That's what will make the difference. My little thing is planting trees.
There's a general culture in this country to cut all the trees. It makes me so angry because everyone is cutting and no one is planting.
Until you dig a hole, you plant a tree, you water it and make it survive, you haven't done a thing. You are just talking.
He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit, He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit.
I'm a tomboy now. I always wanted to fit in with my brother's group, so I climbed trees and played with lead soldiers. But I'm a woman's woman. I never understood women who don't have woman friends.
When I first started, it was really an innocent response to the needs of women in rural areas. When we started planting trees to meet their needs, there was nothing beyond that. I did not see all the issues that I have to come to deal with.
What I was trying to convey there was the kind of waste land that was left after the war. It was a bit like one always thinks of war, you know, stark scenery and no birds, no trees, no leaves, nothing living. And just emptiness.
Only an unsatisfied preference is bad. In other words, he argues that although it is good to have fulfilled whatever desires one might have, one is not better off having a fulfilled desire than having no desire at all. By way of example, consider the...
It was a lone tree burning on the desert. A heraldic tree that the passing storm had left afire. The solitary pilgrim drawn up before it had traveled far to be here and he knelt in the hot sand and held his numbed hands out while all about in that ci...
Each day, at the same time, Jude would return and they would be there, led by Webb, whose life could not have been more different than his. Where Webb's memories of childhood were idyllic and earthy, Jude's reeked of indifference. Webb read fantasy; ...
If she answered, he could not hear it, and he certainly couldn't see her, so he went. First he crawled the rocks one by one, one by one, till his hands touched shore and the nursing sound of the sea was behind him. He felt around, crawled off and the...
It was a perfect spring day. The air was sweet and gentle and the sky stretched high, an intense blue. Harold was certain that the last time he had peered through the net drapes of Fossebridge Road (his home), the trees and hedges were dark bones and...
The clear stars before him took to shuddering and he knew why; they shuddered at sight of what was behind him. He had never divined before that strange Things hid themselves from men, under pretence of being snow-clad mounds of swaying trees; but now...
With the passage of days in this godly isolation [desert], my heart grew calm. It seemed to fill with answers. I did not ask questions any more; I was certain. Everything - where we came from, where we are going, what our purpose is on earth - struck...
Pippin: Gandalf, forgive me. Gandalf: Look at me. What did you see? Pippin: A tree. There was a white tree in a courtyard of stone. It was dead. The city was burning. Gandalf: Minas Tirith? Is that what you saw? Pippin: I saw... I saw him. I can hear...
Nala: Have you guys seen Simba? Timon: I thought he was with you. Nala: He was but now I can't find him. Where is he? [We hear Rafiki's laugh. He's sitting in a tree above them] Rafiki: You won't find him here. The king... has returned. Nala: I can't...
Lefebvre summarises this march of clock-time through society and nature (1991: 95–6). He argues that the lived time experienced in and through nature has gradually disappeared. Time is no longer something that is visible and inscribed within space....
Sweep the broom Over sand and stone. Softly, gently, Brush away the dust. Listen to the leaves As they sing in the tree. Peace fills the soul When living well.
In a cool solitude of trees Where leaves and birds a music spin, Mind that was weary is at ease, New rhythms in the soul begin.
