Quotes About Autumn

And over the village slipped the days, passing into the nights; the weeks flowed by, the months crept on, the wind howled, and glassified with an autumnal, translucent, greenish-azure, The Don flowed tranquilly down to the sea.

Sunja and Yangjin were able to cook the sweets and handle the customers without him. It was never that busy then. It was a late fall afternoon, when business was exceedingly slow and the market women were busy talking with each other since there were so few customers;

He heard someone playing an Andalusian guitar, the drumming of a thousand bat wings inside a dark cave. He heard an ancient lyre, the leaf of autumn falling to the ground, someone whispering "I love you". He heard the sound of winf, a beating heart, and a mother saying good night to her child.

Finally, she mused that human existence is as brief as the life of autumn grass, so what was there to fear from taking chances with your life?

Nell'ottavo mese lunare, in autunno avanzato, distese sconfinate di sorgo scintillavano come un mare di sangue.

The Sussex lanes were very lovely in the autumn. I started going for long lone country walks among the spendthrift gold and glory of the year-end, giving myself up to the earth-scents and the sky-winds and all the magic of the countryside which is ordained for the healing of the soul.

The world know it not; but you, Autumn, I confess it: your wind at night-fall stabs deep into my heart

Autumn is no time to lie alone

She was gentle and sedate as usual, but evidently absent and preoccupied. Her eyes rested on the dew lying on the grass in the garden, and her ears were intent upon the melancholy singing of the autumn insects. It was as if we were in a real romance.

1. Deadly black humor of reality leads to a gene mutation of thinking. 2. 1. Inspiration is like a siren singing. 2. Golden petals of autumn as a dream of death, and golden nostalgia for the past life. Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich

Autumn is the maturity of thoughtfulness, the golden sunset of life.

In the autumn of 1874, the Kiowas were driven southward towards the Staked Plains. Columns of troops were converging upon them from all sides, and they were bone-weary and afraid.

Lucas nodded the instant before Hawke caught the first hint of an exquisitely familiar scent on the breeze. Autumn leaves and spice and strength. His wolf stretched out at the intoxication of it. Maybe she wasn't his mate, but the animal wasn't bothered. It still wanted the man to take her, to claim her. To bite her. Jesus.

I don't need a mate," she muttered, staring up at the bright circle of the early autumn moon. "But can't you send me a nice, sexy, strong male to dance with? Pretty please?

What crannies of untouched perception can you explore? What autumn was it that the moon entered your life? When was it that you picked blueberries at their quintessential moment? How long did you wait for your first true bike? Who are your angels? What are you thinking of? Not thinking of? What are you looking at? Not looking at?

What crannies of untouched perception can you explore? What autumn was it that moon entered your life? When was it that you picked blueberries at their quintessential moment? How long did you wait for your first true bike? Who were your angels? What are you thinking of? Not thinking of? Writing can give you confidence, can train you to wake up.

...I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house. So I have spent almost all the daylight hours in the open air.

I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house." [ Notebook , Oct. 10, 1842]

The autumn twilight turned into deep and early night as they walked. Tristran could smell the distant winter on the air—a mixture of night-mist and crisp darkness and the tang of fallen leaves.... the crescent moon hung white in the sky and the stars burned in the darkness above them.

Harvest Days, a fall festival on the grounds of the Quaker Meeting

Anna drove with the window rolled down, breathing in the essence of autumn: an exhalation of a forest readying itself for sleep, a smell so redolent with nostalgia a pleasant ache warmed her bones and she was nagged with the sense of a loss she could not remember.

the gorgeous autumn purple of those distant moors, and the lush greenery of Ryedale with its host of tiny communities. To the east stands the tiny Minster of Thackerston

As summer turned to autumn, she hardly dared lift her gaze from the king's face. He gave no sign, but her dreams rang and echoed with danger.

Autumn blew, leaves fell, flames flickered, and song turned to war.