Quotes About Autumn

Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.

Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns

he can see alice in wet leaves, first as kids, when they'd jump in them, then as teenagers, when she would lie on the cold ground and he'd cover her with red, orange, and yellow fallen leaves and he would wait for her, wait for her with his heart racing, hoping he hadn't covered her up so much she couldn't jump up, bringing them both to action.

Nightmare: A Tale for an Autumn Evening

Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they're falling like they're falling in love with the ground.

Witty people came out in autumn; beauties in July.

Fall means that all of the Joy of Summer is officially over, and all of those hack fall activities that people seem to pretend to enjoy to make themselves feel better begin.

Pumpkin and nutmeg tarts are a small, sweet version of the classic tart, a combination that is a particular favourite of mine.

Meic Stevens, influential in his home country for founding psychedelic labels Sain and Wren and singing mystic troubadour songs in his native Welsh tongue. In autumn 1969 Stevens took part in an event playing alongside the ten-piece Indo-Jazz Fusions, and the following year the group's sitarist Diwan Motihar and tabla player Keshav Sathe recorded parts on the Welshman's Warners LP Outlander

I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.

In the clear late-autumn light, the forests were a profusion of reds and golds, interrupted occasionally by large patches of black, like holes burnt in a Turkish carpet.

I went up on the hill and walked about until twilight had deepened into an autumn night with a benediction of starry quietude over it. I was alone but not lonely. I was a queen in halls of fancy.

I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it?

She felt vaguely upset and unsettled. She was suddenly tired of outworn dreams. And in the garden the petals of the last red rose were scattered by a sudden little wind. Summer was over --- it was Autumn.

There had been no snow up to this time, but as Diana crossed the old log bridge on her homeward way the white flakes were beginning to flutter down over the fields and woods, russet and gray in their dreamless sleep. Soon the far-away slopes and hills were dim and wraith-like through their gauzy scarfing, as if pale autumn had flung a misty bridal veil over her hair and was waiting for her wintry bridegroom.

I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it? Look at these maple branches. Don't they give you a thrill — several thrills? I'm going to decorate my room with them.

There was such a nice frosty, Octobery smell in the air, blent with the delightful odor of newly plowed fields. I walked on and on until twilight had deepened into a moonlit autumn night. I was alone but not lonely.

I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it?

as time went on and autumn passed and winter came with its beautiful bare-limbed trees, and soft pearl-grey skies the were slashed with rifts of gold in the afternoons, and cleared to a jewelled pageantry of stars over the wide white hills and valleys around New Moon.

Autumn has come to northeast Montana. The vapor of one's breath, the clarity of the stars, the smell of wood smoke, the stones underfoot that even a full day of sunlight won't warm- these all say there will be no more days that can be mistaken for summer.

När hösten kommer blir landskapet så stilla att det nästan dånar av stillhet. Och sådana höstdagar kan man höra en och annan ensam fågel skrika i stillheten som om den ropade av sorg över något förlorat.

Autumn, my favorite season, has always made me sad—the brightness of the sky and trees, the promise of hope and renewal always feels like a trick, an invitation for disappointment, instead of a gift.

For I shall bring you crimson leaves And rippling wheat in golden sheaves; A cache of berries, red and sweet, And dappled deer on silent feet. - Emma Delagardie and Augustus Whittlesby, Americanus: A Masque in Three Parts

Sad that our finest aspiration, Our freshest dreams and meditations, In swift succession should decay, Like Autumn leaves that rot away.