My feet will tread soft as a deer in the forest. My mind will be clear as water from the sacred well. My heart will be strong as a great oak. My spirit will spread an eagle's wings, and fly forth.
I've been very physical my whole life. I went out hiking and camping for days in the Australian forest, and when I trained at drama school for three years, we did a whole lot on stage-fighting techniques. And I was a dancer from 5 to 18, so I have a memory for choreography.
Forest is the best port of the wise man!
Mankind is getting smarter every day. Actually, it only seems so. At least we are making progress. We're progressing, to be sure, ever more deeply into the forest.
When a man in a forest thinks he is going forward in a straight line, in reality he is going in a circle, I did my best to go in a circle, hoping to go in a straight line.
Gardening is civil and social, but it wants the vigor and freedom of the forest and the outlaw.
Owls are known as lonely birds; but it is not known that they have the forest as their best friend!
I prayed like a man walking in a forest at night, feeling his way with his hands, at each step fearing to fall into pure bottomlessness forever. Prayer is like lying awake at night, afraid, with your head under the cover, hearing only the beating of your own heart.
I am your forest, your earth, your eternity. I am your life. I am your death. I am all things forever and always. Love me. Love me. Forever love me.
The beginnings of a forest is one of the ugliest things on the planet. It's bleak and your neighbours hate you.
In the old days, Zen was not really practiced so much in a monastery. The Zen Master usually lived up on a top of the mountain or the hill or in the forest or sometimes in the village.
When lost in a forest go always down hill. When lost in a philosophy or doctrine go upward.
A spark can set a whole forest on fire. Just a spark. Save it.
Notting Forest are having a bad run, they've lost six matches in a row now without winning
I was born under the Blue Ridge, and under that side which is blue in the evening light, in a wild land of game and forest and rushing waters.
I can't quite see the point of poems like "Wittgenstein Goes for a Walk with A Hawk in Sherwood Forest. " I know they're trying to be clever, but they're not.
Out of our deepest memories come the forgotten forms of the past, given new life by the living sentience of an ancient and eternal forest.
Strange indeed is the attraction of the forest for the minds of men.
I was in the forest jumping around daffodils while everyone was high on heroin.
The mission of men there seems to be, like so many busy demons, to drive the forest all out of the country, from every solitary beaver swamp and mountain-side, as soon as possible.