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Forest Quotes

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Forest Quotes

“I would have sworn that the leap was going to end in disaster. I had applied the rubrics of fear and tediously calculated the nature of the risk, thereby adamantly determining it to be impossible. Yet, high in the lofty branches of the towering maple tree the squirrel leapt, and in doing so made it look effortless. And I thought, “How many times have I applied the rubrics of fear, overestimated the leap, and have therefore chosen to exist in a forest of one tree?” Therefore, my commitment in the coming year is to live in a forest of many trees.”

“Don't you see? You created this forest! It is your imagination that has given these trees the water to grow. It is your hopes that blazed a path through it. It is your dreams that give it the magic. All of this was created from within you!”

“পা ফেললে এখানে কোনো শব্দ হয় না। পাতার নরম আর্দ্র গালচেয় পা পড়ে। ভুরভুর করে আতরের মত বনজগন্ধ ওঠে। এখনও হু হু করে হাওয়া বইছে, ভেজা জঙ্গল — পাহাড়ের প্রভাতী গন্ধ বয়ে — সেই পরিষ্কার, নির্মল শীতল হাওয়া ফুসফুসের হয়ত হৃদয়েরও যা কিছু কালিমা সব সঙ্গে সঙ্গে মুছে নিচ্ছে।”

“The unknown grayish mystifying forest was benumbed into frost-covered cold, and the tremendous pines towering above the dark marshy soil resembled a gathering of severe mute brothers from a forbidden ancient order worshiping forgotten gods no one had ever heard of outside of the world of secret occult visions.”

“Indeed, he could not be long in discovering that people beyond a suspicion of unbalance, or not obviously coveting the moment's arrest of attention gained them by their statements, never had experience with or knowledge of the restless dead. Slowly accepting this as evidence that no such things existed, Mr. Lecky found terrors deeper, and to him more plausible, to fill that unoccupied place - the simple sense of himself alone, and, not unassociated with it, the conception of a homicidal maniac quietly pursuing him. The first was exemplified by chance solitude in what he had considered deep woods. No part in it was played by natural dismay which he might have felt at finding himself lost, and none by any tangible suggestion of danger. Mr. Lecky could not even remember where or when it was. Long ago, under a seamless gray sky which would probably end with snow; in an autumnal silence free from birds, unmoved by the least breath of wind, he had come to be walking at random impulse. Leaves, yellow, tan, drifted deep and loose over the difficulties of an uneven hillside. His feet crashed and crackled in them. He was not going anywhere. He had nothing in mind. It might have been this receptive vacancy of thought which let him, little by little, grow aware of a menace. The unnatural light leaf-buried ground, the low dark sky, the solitary noise of his unskilled progress - none of them was good. He began to notice that though the fall of leaves left an apparent bright openness, in reality it merely pushed to a distance the point at which the woods became as impenetrable as a wall. He walked more and more slowly, listening, hearing nothing; looking, seeing nothing. Soon he stopped, for he was not going any farther. Standing in the deep leaves beneath trees bare and practically dead in the catalepsy of impending winter, he knew that he did not want to be here. A great evil - no more to be named than, met, to be escaped - waited fairly close. So he left. He got out of those woods onto an open road where he need not watch for anything he could not see.”

“THOREAU KNOWS (The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.) Making sense of things, Trying to track Nine pebbles of sadness To their source. Sly crows Stole them a mile back, But Thoreau knows I should walk anyway Under sun-coined trees Thick with wood-thrush song Till I reach undergrowth Dense and itchy with the past Till the air cools and I am near Enough to con crow talk Mouth fulls, stories dark.”

“The Hedgehog I ran away and hid in the woods, I was an imprudent child, in My charmed hedgehog skin, I ran away And I was happy in my fairytale Forest, where no one came in, nor Could have penetrated my white magic, I was protected from any disturbances. I was feeding on blueberries, blackberries, wild Fruits, I ate, wept, and I was looking for The tender raspberry, which, magically, It could change my dreams in reality And could drive all my sadness away; Here in my divine forest I loved And I was much loved...”

“Their life is mysterious, it is like a forest; from far off it seems a unity, it can be comprehended, described, but closer it begins to separate, to break into light and shadow, the density blinds one. Within there is no form, only prodigious detail that reaches everywhere: exotic sounds, spills of sunlight, foliage, fallen trees, small beasts that flee at the sound of a twig-snap, insects, silence, flowers. And all of this, dependent, closely woven, all of it is deceiving. There are really two kinds of life. There is, as Viri says, the one people believe you are living, and there is the other. It is this other which causes the trouble, this other we long to see.”

“One might say I had decided to marry the silence of the forest. The sweet dark warmth of the whole world will have to be my wife. Out of the heart of that dark warmth comes the secret that is heard only in silence, but it is the root of all the secrets that are whispered by all the lovers in their beds all over the world. So perhaps I have an obligation to preserve the stillness, the silence, the poverty, the virginal point of pure nothingness which is at the center of all other loves. I attempt to cultivate this plant without contempt in the middle of the night and water it with psalms and prophecies in silence. It becomes the most rare of all the trees in the garden, at once the primordial paradise tree, the axis mundi, the cosmic axle, and the Cross. Nulla silva talem profert. There is only one such tree. It cannot be multiplied. It is not interesting.”

“But a smell shivered him awake. It was a scent as old as the world. It was a hundred aromas of a thousand places. It was the tang of pine needles. It was the musk of sex. It was the muscular rot of mushrooms. It was the spice of oak. Meaty and redolent of soil and bark and herb. It was bats and husks and burrows and moss. It was solid and alive - so alive! And it was close. The vapors invaded Nicholas' nostrils and his hair rose to their roots. His eyes were as heavy as manhole covers, but he opened them. Through the dying calm inside him snaked a tremble of fear. The trees themselves seemed tense, waiting. The moonlight was a hard shell, sharp and ready to ready be struck and to ring like steel. A shadow moved. It poured like oil from between the tall trees and flowed across dark sandy dirt, lengthening into the middle of the ring. Trees seem to bend toward it, spellbound. A long, long shadow...”

“Filled with Autumn The earth, drowned in colors, I am the river-born soul of rippling water, when the sky breaks down in torrents, I am the color-bathed soul of feasty meadows. With baskets of gold in autumn fields. The spark, the fire, the seed of life, Let the earthly desires burn and burn. The sun rises, and the sky is painted with gold. The sun drowns, and the forest wears a face of red and russet The drowning sun brings dusky dreams. On the fields, I walk to capture autumn's fragrance. October has brought colorful dreams. The fall footsteps have enlivened the earth, The blank pages of my book fill up with poems of light, For colors break through the cloudy skies. Summer left, and I drowned in silence at its hushed goodbye. But in the forest, I heard the footsteps of autumn, Suddenly, verses float, for the quiet evenings now feast in colors, The cinnamon smell fills the home, and the scent of nutmeg wafts in the air.”

“Hide yourself in God, so when a man wants to find you he will have to go there first.”