Quotes About Autumn

Why is it that so many of us persist in thinking that autumn is a sad season? Nature has merely fallen asleep, and her dreams must be beautiful if we are to judge by her countenance.

Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.

I listen while my brothers-in-law and father talk college football, as always, the chatter loops around to Notre Dame, and will the Fighting Irish place in the polls this year. The number of the year may change, the children may get older, and we may add in a new baby or spouse here and there, but every autumn, and everything Thanksgiving, the talk turns to Notre Dame football and will they or won't they.

When one is sad, it is lovely to lie in the warmth of one's bed, and there, with all effort and struggle at an end, even perhaps with one's head under the blankets, surrender completely to wailing, like branches in the autumn wind.

Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?

Autumn teaches us a valuable lesson. During summer, all the green trees are beautiful. But there is no time of the year when the trees are more beautiful than when they are different colors. Diversity adds beauty to our world.

Spring is beautiful, and summer is perfect for vacations, but autumn brings a longing to get away from the unreal things of life, out into the forest at night with a campfire and the rustling leaves.

Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.

How strange and awful is the synthesis of life and death in the gusty winds and falling leaves of an autumnal day!

Te jeseni 1939. život je ?oveku bio nanovo poklonjen - re?e Švarc. - ?ak su i kestenovi te jeseni ponovo procvetali, po drugi put, u Parizu - se?ate li se?

Monday was an apple-crisp day with temperatures that never exceeded sixty-two degrees, under vivid cerulean skies.

Hem, you know I don't think that owner's wife where you live likes me. She wouldn't let me wait upstairs for you.' 'I'll tell her,' I said. 'Don't bother. I can always wait here. It's very pleasant in the sun now, isn't it?' 'It's fall now,' I said. 'I don't think you dress warmly enough.' 'It's only cool in the evening,' Evan said. 'I'll wear my coat.' 'Do you know where it is?' 'No. But it's somewhere safe.' 'How do you know?' 'Because I left the poem in it.

The cider tasted like Michigan too and I always remembered the cider mill

Rude?os ar skumj?m samierinies.

This same thing happens too, I think, in one of the most profound and important scenes in all of literature: Moses before the burning bush. Like autumn, the bush contains life-and-death in a single eternal process, the growing bush never consumed by the destructive fire that never dies. Like autumn, the bush, when Moses looks at it, reveals itself to be a person: I AM.

I've always preferred autumn, the season of rededication, when one experiences that same thrill in the breast that one gets walking into a vast library with its smells of old pages and oiled banisters. All those books still to be read. All those centuries of knowledge. Feeling humbled within the context of all that intelligence—but at the same time, elevated. Made part of something larger.

In the slanting light of late autumn, the gestures and bodies of people are more expressive the less meaning they have. Men stand on street corners staring at the emptiness of the day. They spit on the sidewalk and smoke cigarettes. That's the present. ...Time, approaching from afar, is like the air that someone else has already breathed.

Sad; so sad, those smoky-rose, smoky-mauve evenings of late autumn, sad enough to pierce the heart. The sun departs the sky in winding sheets of gaudy cloud; anguish enters the city, a sense of the bitterest regret, a nostalgia for things we never knew, anguish of the turn of the year, the time of impotent yearning, the inconsolable season.

October, crisp, misty, golden October, when the light is sweet and heavy.

There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!

I got my private pilot's license in autumn 1986.

immediately noticed the "splendid library, of course, with soft carpet, couches etc, such as became a sympathiser with the suffering classes." Her withering conclusion was "How can we sufficiently pity the needy unless we know fully the blessings of the plenty?" This autumn she

Fall was slipping quietly into winter

Then came the Autumne all in yellow clad…