cannot have peace among men whose hearts delight in killing any living creature.
By every act that glorifies or even tolerates such moronic delight in killing
we set back the progress of humanity.
beauty of the living world I was trying to save has always been uppermost in my
mind---that, and anger at the senseless brutish things that were being done. I
have felt bound by a solemn obligation to do what I could---if I didn't at least
try I could never be happy again in nature. But now I can believe I have at least
helped a little.
more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe
about us, the less taste we shall have for destruction.
who contemplate the beauty of the Earth find reserves of strength that will endure
as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration
of birds, the ebb and flow of tides, the folded bud ready for spring. There is
something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature -- the assurance
that dawn comes after the night and spring after the winter.
stand now where two roads diverge. But unlike the roads in Robert Frost's familiar
poem, they are not equally fair. The road we have long been traveling is deceptively
easy, a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great speed, but at its
end lies disaster. The other fork of the road—the one "less traveled by"—offers
our last, our only chance to reach a destination that assures the preservation
of the earth."