Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

“The three species of pine native to Wisconsin (white, red and jack) differ radically in their opinions about marriageable age. The precocious jackpine sometimes bloom and bears cones a year or two after leaving the nursery, and a few of my 13-year-old jacks already boast of grandchildren. My 13-year-old reds first bloomed this year, but my whites have not yet bloomed; they adhere closely to the Anglo-Saxon doctrine of free, white, and twenty-one.”
― Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There

“...winter crescent resting in the high pine bough - you fly through the woods like a lone snow bird...”
― John Geddes, A Familiar Rain

“When energy turns in—what Buddha calls paravritti, the coming back of your energy to the source—suddenly clarity is attained. Then you can see clouds a thousand miles away, and then you can hear ancient music in the pines.”
― Osho, Ancient Music in the Pines: In Zen Mind Suddenly Stops

“the fragrance of pine resin is frankincense poured out—a balm of stars and snow and moonlit nights”
― john j geddes

“There is an inimitable yearning in my soul
that pines for your soul.”
― Avijeet Das

“In order to burn out, a person needs to have been on fire at one time.”
― Ayala Pines

“Nothing will ever be more beautiful than a landscape of fresh snow. Pines are scattered through the yard, each one frosted in glittering white crystals, dark green dots peeking through.”
― Lindsey Lanza, A Little Magic

“Once your baby tree is in the ground, check it daily, because the first three years are critical. Remember that you are your tree's only friend in a hostile world.”
― Hope Jahren, Lab Girl

“Wenn die Gewalt zur Norm wird, passen sich die Menschen an die Norm an.”
― Blake Crouch, Pines

“Wisconsin,'" Twiss said. "That's my word."
"The word or the state?" Milly said.
"Both," Twiss said.
Twiss knew every dip and rise on their land, every anthill and every snake hole. She knew what kind of grass grew where. You could blindfold her and she'd be able to tell you what kind of bark belonged to what kind of tree. Pines were her favorite; she liked how they looked so different from the other trees n the woods, yet relied on the same underground springs to stay alive. Instead of a cotton-filled pillow like the rest of the family slept on, Twiss slept on a pillow stuffed with pine needles. She envied the birds that lived in the actual trees.”
― Rebecca Rasmussen, The Bird Sisters

“What is it?" I asked.
"Rain," she said.
"It's too early for rain."
"That's what you think. Open the door. You'll see."
I turned off the air conditioner so that we could hear better, slid open the glass door -- and the soft thunder of rain falling onto sand curtained us in. Deaf, we would still have known it was raining: smell would have told us; the smell of dry earth watered, of dehydrated vegetation reconstituted, the smell of resurrection. The first rain in a dry land! It smells better than lilies in July, or the ocean, or the wind in sun-warmed pines, or the irrigated patch of alfalfa you reach after a long haul through dry hills. It is hard to smell that sweetness and believe in death.”
― Jessamyn West, A Matter of Time