Quotes About Autumn

She smelled faintly of wildflowers. But beneath that she smelled like autumn leaves. Like the dark smell of her own hair, like road dust and the air before a summer storm.

que el otoño es la estación idónea para arrancar de raíz cualquier cosa que no quieras que vuelva a molestarte.

En otoño todo está cansado y más dispuesto a morir.

brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves.

IT WAS ONE OF those perfect autumn days so common in stories and so rare in the real world. The

IT WAS ONE OF those perfect autumn days so common in stories and so rare in the real world.

El otoño es el momento idóneo. En otoño todo está cansado y más dispuesto a morir.

En otoño es el momento idóneo. En otoño todo está cansado y más dispuesto a morir.

I felt a heat containing the colors of autumn. The dark stone in my heart pulsed quietly, igniting like a coal in a hearth. Who is in my heart? I wondered.

DUMB AUTUMN SMELLS. The marguerite, unbroken, passed between home and chasm through your memory. A strange lostness was palpably present, almost you would have lived.

Go blind now, today: eternity also is full of eyes - in them drowns what helped images down the way they came, in them fades what took you out of language, lifted you out with a gesture which you allowed to happen like the dance of the words made of autumn and silk and nothingness.

But we cannot choose what we remember and what we forget. All the lovely bright moments of our lives get forgotten except for remnants here and there, like the leaves blown from a tree in the autumn, and the terrible things, they stick with us forever, as bright and raw as the day they happened.

The long sobsOf the violinsOf autumnPierce my heartWith monotonous languor.

Chanson d'automne Les sanglots longs Des violons De l'automne Blessent mon coeur D'une langueur Monotone. Tout suffocant Et blême, quand Sonne l'heure, Je me souviens Des jours anciens Et je pleure ; Et je m'en vais Au vent mauvais Qui m'emporte Deçà, delà, Pareil à la Feuille morte.

Autumn Song" translated by Arthur Symons When a sighing begins In the violins Of the autumn-song, My heart is drowned In the slow sound Languorous and long Pale as with pain, Breath fails me when The hours toll deep. My thoughts recover The days that are over, And I weep. And I go Where the winds know, Broken and brief, To and fro, As the winds blow A dead leaf.

Falling autumn leaves gave the air an amber hue as though seen through a jar of honey.

The harvest moon hangs round and high It dodges clouds high in the sky, The stars wink down their love and mirth The Autumn season is giving birth. Oh, it must be October...

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!

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves deadAre driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,Pestilence-stricken multitudes.

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:What if my leaves are falling like its own!The tumult of thy mighty harmoniesWill take from both a deep, autumnal tone,Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

[T]here is a harmony In autumn, and a luster in its sky...

It was the best time of the year. Frost at night and warm, sunny days, when the yellows and oranges of the aspen and cottonwoods did something to the blue of the sky behind them that an artist might never mimic.