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What an odd, ruminating, noisy, self-interrupting conversation we conduct with ourselves from birth to death.

Diane Ackerman

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Diane Ackerman
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: October 7
Author
Naturalist
Non-Fiction Writer
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Waukegan
Illinois
Conversation
Birth
Death
Self
Ruminating
Interrupting
Noisy
Odd
Conduct

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Nature is more like a seesaw than a crystal, a never-ending conga line of bold moves and corrections.
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I swear I will not dishonor my soul with hatred, but offer myself humbly as a guardian of nature, as a healer of misery, as a messenger of wonder, as an architect of peace.
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Wonder is the heaviest element on the periodic table. Even a tiny fleck of it stops time.
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Of all the errands life seems to be running, of all the mysteries that enchant us, love is my favorite
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Flight is nothing but an attitude in motion.
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The knowing, I told myself, is only a vapor of the mind, and yet it can wreck havok with one's sanity.
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As the most social apes, we inhabit a mirror-world in which every important relationship, whether with spouse, friend or child, shapes the brain, which in turn shapes our relationships.
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Our relationship with nature has changed radically, irreversibly, but by no means all for the bad. Our new epoch is laced with invention. Our mistakes are legion, but our talent is immeasurable.
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I'm sure civilizations will still evolve through play, or rather as play, since that seems to be a fundamental mechanism of our humanity.
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habit, a particularly insidious thug who chokes passion and smothers love. Habit puts us on autopilot.
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Libraries change lives. They are the soul of a people.
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In the early years of the Uprising, we survived on one meal a day of horse meat and soup, but by the end we ate only dried peas, dogs, cats and birds.
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Smell brings to mind... a family dinner of pot roast and sweet potatoes during a myrtle-mad August in a Midwestern town. Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines hidden under the weedy mass of years.
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I don't want to be a passenger in my own life.
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It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.
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I hate the fearful trimming of possibilities that age brings.
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A poem records emotions and moods that lie beyond normal language, that can only be patched together and hinted at metaphorically.
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History is an agreed-upon fiction.
Diane Ackerman
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Culture is what people invent when they have lost nature.
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As a species, we've somehow survived large and small ice ages, genetic bottlenecks, plagues, world wars and all manner of natural disasters, but I sometimes wonder if we'll survive our own ingenuity.
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