Quotes About Trees

Love shook my heart Like the wind on the mountain rushing over the oak trees.

The wind plays the world like an instrument. Blows through trees like flutes. But trees won't grow in cement. And as heart beats bring percussion fallen trees bring repercussions. Cities play upon our souls like broken drums.

Who me? I play scales. The scales of dead fish of oil-slicked seas. My sister blows wind through the hollows of fallen trees. And we are the echoes of eternity. Maybe you've heard of us. We do rebirths, revolts, and resurrections.

Where Pan protects them. In the cool, wet places Of bushy clefts, nature's nymphs live hidden, 9880 The crowding trees reach upwards with their branches Longingly, after a higher region.

The statue had its own traffic triangle, part laid to grass, with conker trees. All on its own, its plinth pink granite. Above stood William Wallace stern and black, right hand covering his claymore hilt, left hand wide, outstretched and open. A yo-yo hung from his ring finger.

No poem lovely as a tree, she said (though I'd never once thought to compare)

When Autumn's shadows idly muse And tinge the trees with many hues Amidst whose scenes I feign to dwell And sing of what I love so well

The snow fell straight and slow, adding another layer to the drifts and covering roads, trees, bushes, and bodies, the living and the dead as one beneath its veil.

ABOVE PASTOR'S BAY SIX ravens flew low, barely rising over the skeletal trees. High in the clear blue sky the last geese were heading south, but the ravens moved north toward forests and mountains, toward ice and snow. They flew fast and sure into the coming dark, that they might tell the waiting wolf of all they had seen.

The trees were almost bare, making their branches appear as cracks in the cosmos.

Actually, my ideal life would be to have an evergreen tree farm and, every December, I'd load them up and just stand out on the street and sell Christmas trees.

In this city of unsimilars I give my body to science and mosquitoes, but I still want to live in it despite carhorns & reckless poverty, all forms of carbon copies, hard-ons, declining trees & me & my organs to you, Carlotta

The Arenos felt that their silent bayou, their buried kin, their dead trees were forgotten, like the female half of the Nuer. Coming

a bigger one came true. As Hurricane Rita shredded homes, upended trees, and smashed houses, Heath got more work and earned more money.

The cultivation of trees is the cultivation of the good, the beautiful, and the ennobling in man, and for one, I wish to see it become universal.

Mother Nature is always speaking. She speaks in a language understood within the peaceful mind of the sincere observer. Leopards, cobras, monkeys, rivers and trees; they all served as my teachers when I lived as a wanderer in the Himalayan foothills.

Presently I went back to my Companions, and slept under the apple trees, wrapped in my cloak and with my head on Cabal's flank for a pillow. There is no pillow in the world so good as a hound's flank.

Alberto Caeiro: "Sejamos simples e calmos como os regatos e as árvores, e Deus amar-nos-á fazendo de nós belos como as árvores e os regatos...". Deus nos amará quando formos como as árvores!

The sunlight, penetrating the gaps in the tall trees, plays chess on the gravestones, shifting slowly and thoughtfully across the worn old stones. The wind, like a hundred violins, plays perpetually in the topmost branches of the deodars.

The rain swirls over the trees and roofs of the town, and the parched earth soaks it up, exuding a fragrance that comes only once in a year, the fragrance of quenched earth, the most exhilarating of all smells.

But men are cutting down the trees without replacing them. For every tree that's felled, we must plant two. Otherwise, one day there'll be no forests at all, and the world will become one great desert.

She walked home through the darkening glade, singing of the stars; and the trees stood still and listened to her, and the mountains were glad.

Some night sounds outside my window remain strange & mysterious. Perhaps they are the sounds of the trees themselves, stretching their limbs in the dark, shifting a little, flexing their fingers, whispering to one another.

These great trees of the mountains, I feel they know me well, as I watch them & listen to their secrets, happy to rest my head beneath their outstretched arms.