One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.
Tongues I'll hang on every tree That shall civil sayings show. . . .
Then was I as a tree whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night, a storm or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, and left me bare to weather.
Hang there like a fruit, my soul, Till the tree die! -Posthumus Leonatus Act V, Scene V
I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew, Than one of these same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd, Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree, And that would set my teeth nothing an edge, Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie...
'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all wither'd.
Good morrow, fair ones; pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees?
Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.