Quotes About Autumn

The over-ripe, golden autumn which had taken hold of the town tugged at our heartstrings. The nomadic life makes you sensitive to the seasons: you rely on them, even become part of the season itself, and each time they change, it seems to have to tear yourself away from a place where you have learned to live.

Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.

October's poplars are flaming torches lighting the way to winter.

You know why?" Suzie says. "Because it's autumn. The leaves are falling. The woods open up. Anytime things are moving out, you're in love with moving in.

After all, the Jewish historian Josephus maintains the world was created in the autumn, at the autumn equinox. A reasonable notion, since of course there were fruits in paradise; given the apple hanging from the tree, it must indeed have been autumn…

Thanksgiving is the winding up of autumn. The leaves are off the trees, except here and there on a beech or an oak; there is nothing left on the boughs but a few nuts and empty birds' nests. The earth looks desolate, and it will be a comfort to have the snow on the ground, and to hear the merry jingle of the sleigh-bells.

Though we knew each other without overlapping our clothes, still, with this autumn wind's sound, I find myself waiting for you.

Seeing the moonlight Spilling down Through these trees, My heart fills to the brim With autumn.

When the autumn wind Blows down from Tokiwa Mountain, My body fills, as if blushing, With the color and scent Of pine.

O Spider Lily That grows on the mountain Called Waiting, Is there someone you also Promised to meet this autumn?

Although there is not one moment without longing, still, how strange this autumn twilight is. — Ono no Komachi, The Ink Dark Moon tr. by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani (Vintage Classics, 1990)

It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.

Autumn, not spring, is swimming's preseason. It is a time to build an aerobic base, develop a routine, and set goals for the year. The few meets held between August and January are dress rehearsals to real racing, which begins in January.

Today is Thanksgiving, and an icicle breeze nips at your window and whips up the leaves. Ah, what a morning! The cold autumn haze brings visions of Pilgrims and Indians…and maize! So wrap in a blanket and don your warm socks and pretend you're descending an old Plymouth rock.

Certains animaux connaissent des extases peut-être plus puissantes ontologiquement à partir de leur silence et au sein de leur appartenance au milieu, que nous-mêmes à partir du langage et dans notre désappartenance progressive encore qu'intermittente à la nature. Certains cerfs d'automne pris dans leur brume sont plus au courant de l'intrigue originelle que les dieux.

For me the autumn has never been a sad season. The dead leaves and the increasingly shorter days have never suggested the end of anything, but rather an expectation of the future. In paris, there is an electricity in the air in october evenings at nightfall. Even when it is raining. i do not feel low at that hour of the day, nor do i have the sense of time flying by. i have the impression that everything is possible. the year begins in the month of october.

For me, autumn has never been a sad season. The dying leaves and the days that grow shorter and shorter have never evoked the end of something for me but instead brought with them anticipation for the future. In Paris, during these October evenings, there is an electricity in the air at dusk. Even when it rains. I don't feel down at that time of night, nor does it seem that time is passing too swiftly. I have the feeling that anything is possible.

The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn's ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.

It was one of those perfect Autumn days so common in stories and rare in the real world.

It was deep and wide as autumn's ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.

This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn's ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.

Things are too full of life in the spring months. In the summer, they're too strong and won't let go. Autumn . . .'" He looked around at the changing leaves on the trees. "'Autumn's the time. In autumn everything is tired and ready to die.

IT WAS ONE OF those perfect autumn days so common in stories and so rare in the real world. The weather was warm and dry, ideal for ripening a field of wheat or corn. On both sides of the road the trees were changing color. Tall poplars had gone a buttery yellow while the shrubby sumac encroaching on the road was tinged a violent red. Only the old oaks seemed reluctant to give up the summer, and their leaves remained an even mingling of gold and green.

it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn's ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.