Quote

What would dawn have been like, had you awakened? It would have sung through your bones. All I can do this morning is let it sing through mine.

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
Dawn
Bones
Sing
Mines
Mine
Morning
Sung
Would
Like
Awakened

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What an odd, ruminating, noisy, self-interrupting conversation we conduct with ourselves from birth to death.
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Smell is the mute sense, the one without words.
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Wonder is a bulky emotion. When you let it fill your heart and mind, there isn't room for anxiety, distress or anything else.
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Artificial intelligence is growing up fast, as are robots whose facial expressions can elicit empathy and make your mirror neurons quiver.
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I'm an Earth ecstatic, and my creed is simple: All life is sacred, life loves life, and we are capable of improving our behavior toward one another. As basic as that is, for me it's also tonic and deeply spiritual, glorifying the smallest life-form and embracing the most distant stars.
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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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It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.
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One of the things I like best about animals in the wild is that they're always off on some errand. They have appointments to keep. It's only we humans who wonder what we're here for.
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I'm certainly not opposed to digital technology, whose graces I daily enjoy and rely on in so many ways. But I worry about our virtual blinders.
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After all, coffee is bitter, a flavor from the forbidden and dangerous realm.
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Poetry reminds us of the truths about life and human nature that we knew all along, but forgot somehow because they weren't yet in memorable language.
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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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All relationships change the brain - but most important are the intimate bonds that foster or fail us, altering the delicate circuits that shape memories, emotions and that ultimate souvenir, the self.
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In Manhattan last month I heard a woman borrowing the jargon of junkies to say to another, 'Want to do some chocolate?'
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Habitats keep evolving new pageants of species, and we shouldn't interfere.
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Which is crueler, an old man's lost memories of a life lived, or a young man's lost memories of the life he meant to live?
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We humans are obsessed with lights...Perhaps it is our way of hurling the constellations back at the sky.
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Choice is a signature of our species.
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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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Look at your feet. You are standing in the sky. When we think of the sky, we tend to look up, but the sky actually begins at the earth.
Diane Ackerman