To Be Wild Is Not To Be Crazy Or Psychotic. True Wildness Is A Love Of Nature, A Delight In Silence, A Voice Free To Say Spontaneous Things, And An Exuberant Curiosity In The Face Of The Unknown.
I Do Not Know What The Cat Can Have Eaten. Usually I Know Exactly What The Cat Has Eaten. Not Only Have I Fed It To The Cat, At The Cat's Insistence, But The Cat Has Thrown It Up On The Rug, And Someone Has Tracked It All Over Onto The Other Rug. I Do Not Know Why Cats Are Such Habitual Vomiters. They Do Not Seem To Enjoy It, Judging By The Sounds They Make While They Are Doing It. It's Their Nature. A Dog Is Going To Bark. A Cat Is Going To Vomit.
There Is Not In Nature, A Thing That Makes Man So Deformed, So Beastly, As Doth Intemperate Anger.
The Tree Which Moves Some To Tears Of Joy Is In The Eyes Of Others Only A Green Thing That Stands In The Way. Some See Nature All Ridicule And Deformity... And Some Scarce See Nature At All. But To The Eyes Of The Man Of Imagination, Nature Is Imagination Itself.
Human Nature Is Pretty Well Balanced; For Every Lacking Virtue There Is A Rough Substitute That Will Serve At A Pinch--as Cunning Is The Wisdom Of The Unwise, And Ferocity The Courage Of The Coward.