The tendinous part of the mind, so to speak, is more developed in winter; the fleshy, in summer. I should say winter had given the bone and sinew to literature, summer the tissues and the blood.

—John Burroughs

About John Burroughs

Portrait of John Burroughs

John Burroughs (April 3, 1837 – March 29, 1921) was an American naturalist and nature essayist, active in the conservation movement in the United States. The first of his essay collections was Wake-Robin in 1871.

More quotations from John Burroughs

The very idea of a bird is a symbol and a suggestion to the poet. A bird seems to be at the top of the scale, so vehement and intense his life.… The beautiful vagabonds, endowed with every grace, masters of all climes, and knowing no bounds—how many human aspirations are realised in their free, holiday-lives—and how many suggestions to the poet in their flight and song!

—John Burroughs

It is always easier to believe than to deny. Our minds are naturally affirmative.

—John Burroughs

mind belief denial

Leap, and the net will appear.

—John Burroughs

risk safety possibility

How beautiful the leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days.

—John Burroughs

beauty age light color

It is good that fire should burn, even if it consumes your house; it is good that force should crush, even if it crushes you; it is good that rain should fall, even if it destroys your crops and floods your land. Plagues and pestilences attest to the constancy of natural law. They set us to cleaning our streets and houses and to readjusting our relations to outward nature. Only in a live universe could disease and death prevail. Death is a phase of life, a redistributing of the type. Decay is another kind of growth.

—John Burroughs

bad good death all one sickness

More quotations tagged with “winter”

One kind word can warm three winter months.

—Japanese proverb

Every mile is two in winter.

—George Herbert

There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons—That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes—

—Emily Dickinson

Every winter, When the great sun has turned his face away, The earth goes down into a vale of grief, And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables, Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay—Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.

—Charles Kingsley

Perhaps I am a bear, or some hibernating animal underneath, for the instinct to be half asleep all winter is so strong in me.

—Anne Morrow Lindbergh

History

11 Jul 2015 Added