Wuthering Heights: I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy and free.

The bed is lit by moonlight,

I think it is the light snow of an early winter morning.

Looking up, I enjoy the full moon in the night sky.

Bending over, I miss my hometown.

Catullus: I myself have seen this woman draw the stars from the sky; she diverts the course of a fast-flowing river with her incantations; her voice makes the earth gape, it lures the spirits from the tombs, send the bones tumbling from the dying pyre. At her behest, the sad clouds scatter; at her behest, snow falls from a summer's sky.

I'm always watching for something when I go [to the ocean]. Watching the water, like I left my heart out there, sometime, maybe a long time ago. That's what everyone does at the ocean. We're watching and waiting for a monster, or a mermaid, or for something lost to come back.

Emily Martin, the Black Apple

She was more than human to me. she was a fairy, a sylph, I don’t know what she was - anything that everybody ever wanted. I was swallowed up in an abyss of love in an instant. There was no pausing on the brink; no looking down, or looking back; I was gone, headlong, before I had sense to say a word to her.

Charles Dickens, David Copperfield

The bloodthirsty spring has awakened in the woods. The foxes start from their earths, the serpents drink the dew, and I go with you in the leaves between the pines and the silence, asking myself how and when I will have to pay for my luck.

Pablo Neruda

rain is a bit like tea. It's equally good shared with someone you love, or just by yourself.

Rhiannon

The perfect moment in Nature is now.

BunnyMummy

Wood-shadowed dales, a harvest moon,

Unclouded in its glorious noon;

A solemn landscape, wide and still;

A red fire on a distant hill—

A line of fires, and deep below,

Another dusker, drearier glow—

Charred beams, and lime and blackened stones

Self-piled in cairns o'er burning bones;

And lurid flames that licked the wood,

Then quenched their glare in pools of blood.

Why Ask To Know The Date—The Clime? (1846), Emily Brontë

Start a journey in search of abandoned fields, seeds on the ground

From ancient myths told by elders of real dreams and pure happiness

Of mosses covering roots, the smell of eucalyptus that refreshes

And let his blue trails, marching with the fog

The sun, happy, walking away and leaving his last memories through rays on the sky

Making room for an inspiring night, full of bright stars and a cold wind that goes through the skin

That chills your spine that holds your soul

It makes you be what it is

By an Anonymous South American Mori Boy (translated from Spanish)

“When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, “what’s the first thing you say to yourself?”

“What’s for breakfast?” said Pooh. “What do you say, Piglet?”

“I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?” said Piglet.

Pooh nodded thoughtfully. “It’s the same thing,” he said.”

A.A. Milne