One Of The Penalties Of

Harmony With Land Is Like Harmony With A Friend; You Cannot Cherish His Right Hand And Chop Off His Left.

We Console Ourselves With The Comfortable Fallacy That A Single Museum Piece Will Do, Ignoring The Clear Dictum Of History That A Species Must Be Saved In Many Places If It Is To Be Saved At All.

We All Strive For Safety, Prosperity, Comfort, Long Life, And Dullness.

High Horns, Low Horns, Silence, And Finally A Pandemonium Of Trumpets, Rattles, Croaks, And Cries That Almost Shakes The Bog With Its Nearness ... A New Day Has Begun On The Crane Marsh. A Sense Of Time Lies Thick And Heavy On Such A Place ... Our Ability To Perceive Quality In Nature Begins, As In Art, With The Pretty. It Expands Through Successive Stages Of The Beautiful To Values As Yet Uncaptured By Language.

Wildlife Administration, In This Respect, Is Not Yet A Profession.