Nature (n.) is morally indifferent: the sun shines on the just and the wicked alike, and the torturer's heart beats normally.
Nature (n.) seen as power points nowhere; seen as mystery and grandeur, it becomes the problem itself.
Nature (n.) is not to be adored; its mystery is only the beginning, and God lies beyond it.
Nature (n.) can be met three ways: exploited for its power, enjoyed for its beauty, or accepted in awe for its grandeur.
Nature (n.) treated as a toolbox stops pointing beyond itself.
Nature (n.) cannot save us; deaf and indifferent, she needs saving herself.
Nature (n.) is a beauty whose lovely face has fooled us into thinking she has a heart.
Nature (n.) is neither to be adored nor fled; Judaism finds the first absurd and the second needless.
Nature (n.) shows the modern eye its order and power, the prophet's eye its grandeur and its having been created.
Nature (n.) is a hint of God, not a mirror of Him; it carries out His will without being part of Him.
Nature (n.) is patient and pliant before the mind but obstinately silent; she never speaks to us.
Nature (n.) is treated like a great oak that children strip and tourists carve with their initials.
Nature (n.) may be so perfect precisely to hide its maker, a splendor poured out to conceal a presence.
Nature (n.) sings a song that is not her own; even her beauty is borrowed perfection.
Nature (n.) cannot tutor our conscience; she is too distant or too ancient to tell confused man right from wrong.
Nature (n.) supplies every need but one: the need to be needed.