A Quote by Chief Seattle

My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain. — © Chief Seattle
My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain.

Quote Author

Me? I was lost for long time. I didn’t make any friends for few years. You can say I made friends with two trees, two big trees in the middle of the school […]. I spent all my free time up in those trees. Everyone called me Tree Boy for the longest time. […]. I preferred trees to people. After that I preferred pigeons, but it was trees first.
The storm that bends the birch trees Is held to be violent But how about the storm That bends the backs of the roadworkers?
A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease.
People resemble still more the time in which they live, than they resemble their fathers.
Too many of the organizations I have observed resemble a farm in Kansas. They have lots of fences and silos as well as a storm cellar.
Make the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things-mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity-and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.
I was born on a storm-swept rock and hate the soft growth of sun-baked lands where there is no frost in men's bones.
The lives of happy people are dense with their own doings -- crowded, active, thick. But the sorrowing are nomads, on a plain with few landmarks and no boundaries; sorrow's horizons are vague and its demands are few.
On June 10, the worst storm in the series swept across the middle of the Indian Ocean and Wild Eyes was directly in its path.
Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees. Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts; and if people in general could be got into the woods, even for once, to hear the trees speak for themselves, all difficulties in the way of forest preservation would vanish.
It is a time when one's spirit is subdued and sad, one knows not why; when the past seems a storm-swept desolation, life a vanity and a burden, and the future but a way to death.
A storm breaks trees. It only bends grass.
You can replace houses. You can't replace people. I mean, it's left me speechless. I was talking to P.J. (Brown) about it. When the storm hit, I just kept it on CNN and watched the whole thing. Just seeing Canal Street, knowing I was there just a few days before storm and seeing all those stores I went in being under water. Unbelievable.
The flocks fear the wolf, the crops the storm, and the trees the wind.
The colour of a British wood in autumn is predominantly yellow. There are relatively few European trees which have red leaves in the autumn. But there are splashes of crimson or rust-red colours from a few indigenous trees, like the rowan, as well as from introduced species, like the North American red oak.
Good timber does not grow with ease: The stronger wind, the stronger trees; The further sky, the greater length; The more the storm, the more the strength. By sun and cold, by rain and snow, In trees and men good timbers grow.
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