Quotes About Autumn

I go out alone to visit a man alone in this autumn dusk

CALL it loneliness, that deep, beautiful color no one can describe: over these dark mountains, the gathering autumn dusk.

Autumn approaches and the heart begins to dream. — Bash?, The Sound of Water: Haiku by Bash?, Buson, Issa, and Other Poets (Shambhala, November 14, 2006)

To me it seems that youth is like spring, an overpraised season-- delightful if it happen to be a favoured one, but in practice very rarely favoured and more remarkable, as a general rule, for biting east winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.

The one red leaf, the last of its clan,That dances as often as dance it can.

From half-dark to half-dark, I read autumn poems in spring. Buson writes about stepping on his dead wife's comb in their dark bedroom. In fact, she outlived him by thirty-one years. The chill from that comb, and the snap of eros and solitude and imagining, all in flower.

The world is tired, the year is old, The faded leaves are glad to die...

Autumn Dusk I saw above a sea of hills A solitary planet shine, And there was no one, near or far, to keep the world from being mine.

My heart is a garden tired with autumn.

Dusk in Autumn" The moon is like a scimitar, A little silver scimitar, A-drifting down the sky. And near beside it is a star, A timid twinkling golden star, That watches likes an eye. And thro' the nursery window-pane The witches have a fire again, Just like the ones we make,— And now I know they're having tea, I wish they'd give a cup to me, With witches' currant cake.

She looked like autumn, when leaves turned and fruit ripened.

It is sometimes said that you Americans are devoid of sentiment; that in affairs of the heart you are like birds who come in early spring and sing while the trees are in blossom, but who leave with no sign of regret at the first touch of Autumn. I do not believe that. Your sentiment is of another kind. You are younger than we as a race, you are perhaps barbaric, but what of it? You are still in the moulding. Your spirit is superb.

Autumn is no time to lie alone

And getting married this autumn was certainly an additional incentive to spend rather more time in England.

In the autumn of 1929 the mightiest of Americans were, for a brief time, revealed as human beings.

Frost came behind the rain, and the resulting scene across the fields was a ponded desecration, frozen like a photograph of ruin, an upheaval painted with the hues of autumn which had bled to mud.

Chrysanthemums were a new flower, recently imported for the first time and therefore considered fashionable, but Amy thought they smelled of autumn. Another autumn. Another year nearer the grave.

The river's name, Huong, evokes the pleasing scent of incense or the pink and white petals that float downstream in autumn from orchards to the north. The Americans called it the Perfume River.

They would never know how lucky they had been. For a lifetime, mankind had achieved as much happiness as any race can ever know. It had been the Golden Age. But gold was also the color of sunset, of autumn: and only Karellen's ears could catch the first wailings of the winter storms.

Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.

I shall weave a suit of leaves. At once. With acorns for buttons.

Autumn settled itself down over the land like a colorful skirt. Dusk came earlier and touched the leaves with sharp breath. The hills were filled with the smoke from smoldering patches of forest fires.

It was a lovely autumn day with a blue sky: I made my way through a lead-coloured world, and I realized that my mother's accident was affecting me far more than I had thought it would. I could not really see why. It had wrenched her out of the framework, the role, the set of images in which I had imprisoned her: I recognized her in this patient in bed, but I did not recognize either the pity or the kind of disturbance that she aroused in me.

The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and for ever!