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The trees reflected in the river - they are unconscious of a spiritual world so near to them. So are we.
Sep 10, 2025
In rivers, the water that you touch is the last of what has passed and the first of that which comes; so with present time.
No one has the right to use America's rivers and America's Waterways, that belong to all the people. as a sewer. The banks of a river may belong to one man or one industry or one State, but the waters which flow between the banks should belong to all the people.
I started out thinking of America as highways and state lines. As I got to know it better, I began to think of it as rivers.
I see an America whose rivers and valleys and lakes hills and streams and plains the mountains over our land and nature's wealth deep under the earth are protected as the rightful heritage of all the people.
To live by a large river is to be kept in the heart of things.
Men may come and men may go but I go on forever.
When you put your hand in a flowing stream, you touch the last that has gone before and the first of what is still to come.
Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
Rain is a blessing when it falls gently on parched fields, turning the earth green, causing the birds to sing.
What makes a river so restful to people is that it doesn't have any doubt it is sure to get where it is going, and it doesn't want to go anywhere else.
Rivers run through our history and folklore, and link us as a people.... We are a nation rich in rivers.
All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full.
The River... It's my world, and I don't want any other. What it hasn't got is not worth having, and what it doesn't know is not worth knowing. Lord! the times we've had together!
Children of a culture born in a water-rich environment, we have never really learned how important water is to us. We understand it, but we do not respect it.
Thousands have lived without love, not one without water.
If you gave me several million years, there would be nothing that did not grow in beauty if it were surrounded by water.
Water is the one substance from which the earth can conceal nothing; it sucks out its innermost secrets and brings them to our very lips.
Water is H2O, hydrogen two parts, oxygen one, but there is also a third thing, that makes it water and nobody knows what that is.
The river delights to lift us free, if only we dare let go.
We forget that the water cycle and the life cycle are one.
The sun shines not on us but in us.
The marsh, to him who enters it in a receptive mood, holds, besides mosquitoes and stagnation, melody, the mystery of unknown waters, and the sweetness of Nature undisturbed by man.
I gave my heart to the mountains the minute I stood beside this river with its spray in my face and watched it thunder into foam, smooth to green glass over sunken rocks, shatter to foam again. I was fascinated by how it sped by and yet was always there; its roar shook both the earth and me.
If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.
Water is the most critical resource issue of our lifetime and our children's lifetime. The health of our waters is the principal measure of how we live on the land.
Water, thou hast no taste, no color, no odor; canst not be defined, art relished while ever mysterious. Not necessary to life, but rather life itself, thou fillest us with a gratification that exceeds the delight of the senses.
Water is life's matter and matrix, mother and medium. There is no life without water.
I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river Is a strong brown god-sullen, untamed and intractable.
Swift or smooth, broad as the Hudson or narrow enough to scrape your gunwales, every river is a world of its own, unique in pattern and personality. Each mile on a river will take you further from home than a hundred miles on a road.
Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.
The river moves from land to water to land, in and out of organisms, reminding us what native peoples have never forgotten: that you cannot separate the land from the water, or the people from the land.
I was born upon thy bank, river, My blood flows in thy stream, And thou meanderest forever, At the bottom of my dream.
We let a river shower its banks with a spirit that invades the people living there, and we protect that river, knowing that without its blessings the people have no source of soul.
Between earth and earth's atmosphere, the amount of water remains constant; there is never a drop more, never a drop less. This is a story of circular infinity, of a planet birthing itself.
To put your hands in a river is to feel the chords that bind the earth together.
A river seems a magic thing. A magic, moving, living part of the very earth itself.
Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.
Ocean: A body of water occupying about two-thirds of a world made for man - who has no gills.
In the world there is nothing more submissive and weak than water. Yet for attacking that which is hard and strong nothing can surpass it.
I have never seen a river that I could not love. Moving water... has a fascinating vitality. It has power and grace and associations. It has a thousand colors and a thousand shapes, yet it follows laws so definite that the tiniest streamlet is an exact replica of a great river.
Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
We never know the worth of water till the well is dry.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.
Anything else you're interested in is not going to happen if you can't breathe the air and drink the water. Don't sit this one out. Do something. You are by accident of fate alive at an absolutely critical moment in the history of our planet.
The air, the water and the ground are free gifts to man and no one has the power to portion them out in parcels. Man must drink and breathe and walk and therefore each man has a right to his share of each.
Water and air, the two essential fluids on which all life depends, have become global garbage cans.
To the lost man, to the pioneer penetrating a new country, to the naturalist who wishes to see the wild land at its wildest, the advice is always the same - follow a river. The river is the original forest highway. It is nature's own Wilderness Road.
Rivers must have been the guides which conducted the footsteps of the first travelers. They are the constant lure, when they flow by our doors, to distant enterprise and adventure, and, by a natural impulse, the dwellers on their banks will at length accompany their currents to the lowlands of the globe, or explore at their invitation the interior of continents.
Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries--stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region. Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever.