Quotes About Golden leaves
How's Tuscany." "The birthplace of the Italian Renaissance? Full of winding roads, hills and valleys, where a morning mist rolls out in the distance, and the forests are littered with leaves so golden red that the entire world feels like it's on fire in the very best way? That Tuscany?
~ Jennifer Lynn Barnes
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There seemed nothing so true as a yellow tree.
~ Lorrie Moore
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Come, little leaves, said the Wind one day, Come to the meadows with me and play. Put on your dresses of red and gold; For Summer is past, and the days grow cold.
~ George Cooper
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She asked us to raise the curtain that was covering the window and she looked at the golden leaves of the trees. 'How lovely. I shouldn't see that from my flat!' She smiled. And both of us, my sister and I, had the same thought: it was that same smile that had dazzled us when we were little children, the radiant smile of a young woman. Where had it been between then and now?
~ Simone de Beauvoir
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My feet scuffed through the golden leaves carpeting the wide sidewalks. Sunlight and shadow danced on ivy-covered walls.
~ Ben Carson
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The morning air of the pasture turned steadily cooler. Day by day, the bright golden leaves of the birches turned more spotted as the first winds of winter slipped between the withered branches and across the highlands toward the southeast. Stopping in the center of the pasture, I could hear the winds clearly. No turning back, they pronounced. The brief autumn was gone.
~ Haruki Murakami
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All at once, it seemed, the leaves of cottonwood trees around the cabin turned golden and whispered to themselves, then curled into black flutes and floated to the ground in crispy, lacy heaps.
~ Kristin Hannah
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Come, Autumn Roll your red-gold wave Gently Across the good earth.
~ Laura Jaworski
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Yellow leaves were falling all through the forest and the river was filled with them, shuttling and winking, golden leaves that rushed like poured coins in the tailwater. A perishable currency, forever renewed.
~ Cormac McCarthy
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The brilliant trees burned through the heavy mist and he climbed them to pluck leaves of gold, cramming fistfuls inside his sweater, imagining the wealth that would be his.
~ Patti Smith
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