Quotes About Trees

What word blue could get that dazzling drench of blue moonlight on the flat, luminous field of white snow, with the black trees against the sky, each with its particular configuration of branches? I felt shut in, imprisoned, aware that it was fine and shudderingly beautiful, but too gone with pain and aching to respond and become part of

The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve. On their blotter of fog the trees Seem a botanical drawing. Memories growing, ring on ring, A series of weddings. Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery, Truer than women, They seed so effortlessly! Tasting the winds, that are footless, Waist-deep in history. Full of wings, otherworldliness. In this, they are Ledas. O mother of leaves and sweetness Who are these pietas? The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but chasing nothing.

She hurried to the front door, opened it, and stepped onto the porch. Dark cumulus clouds hovered low over the town, and a warm wind whipped through the trees, carrying stray leaves and dust through the street.

The naked earth is warm with Spring, And with green grass and bursting trees Leans to the sun's kiss glorying, And quivers in the sunny breeze.

November came roaring in with gusty winds and more wet weather. Mandy's depression would not go away. Her garden seemed sad, too. It was virtually empty now, and the few brave flowers that remained there were flattened by rain, their yellows stalks sprawling in all directions. Most of the trees were bare, and the woods had a wet carpet of leaves.

Year by year I see trees disappearing. It's no good people saying they replant: you never find the same number. Each time there are fewer of them to raise their young arms towards the sun once again or shake their tresses in the wind.

There was so much feeling in the world. So much sadness. So much longing. So much joy. Everything had a soul. The petals of flowers. The mice of the field. The clouds and rain and the bare limbs of trees. All

The grass was tall and parched, the limbs of the trees barren or else dotted with a few remaining leaves, the stragglers, bleached to the color of bone. They lifted in the breeze like waving hands, rustling like old paper.

akuntala, we have watered the trees that blossom in the summer-time. Now let's sprinkle those whose flowering-time is past. That will be a better deed, because we shall not be working for a reward.

In the trembling grey of a spring dawn, when the birds were whispering in mysterious cadence among the trees, have you not felt that they were talking to their mates about the flowers?

But just a few minutes walk away there was a park lined with Banyan trees, their ancient overground roots more enduring than wire rusting in the sea air or guns that jammed with dust or the calculations made today by politicians looking to the next elections.

Trees and branches are what nation states cling to; waves are what markets do.

willow trees, willow trees they remind me of Desdemona I'm so damned literary and at the same time the waters rushing past remind me of nothing

en route to such trees and get up before dawn, something they normally hate to do.

If, as I believe, natural regrowth has to be the basis for the renaissance of the world's trees, then the custodians of that process must be the people who live in, among and from them.

Above his monotonous voice one could hear, now and again, a little wind stray through the drying leaves of the trees. A leaf or two might flutter down, and scratch against the bark of trunk or boughs with a crackling papery rustle.

En la tarde lluviosa mi corazon aprende la tragedia otonal que los arboles lleuven.

The patient. The pine tree seems to listen, the fir tree to wait: and both without impatience: - they give no thought to the little people beneath them devoured by their impatience and their curiosity.

The pine tree seems to listen, the fir tree to wait: and both without impatience -- they give no thought to the little people beneath them devoured by their impatience and their curiosity.

Sutras are spread throughout fields and cities and written on rocks and trees. Dirt preaches sutras and so does plain old empty space.

Devin stood, turning toward the sound as Kunaya bolted in the other direction, her meal unfinished. He put his hand to his sword but didn't draw it as a girl stepped out from the trees, leading a horse by the reins. She looked a little younger than him, but her bearing was confident, and she spoke with the poise of the educated upper class. "Cats are awfully

Sólo después de que florezca el roble, que es el último en primavera, despierta el fresno. Me lo imagino como el pastor de los demás árboles, vigilando que las hojas de todos estén verdes antes de florecer él.

Talk of mysteries! — Think of our life in nature, — daily to be shown matter, to come in contact with it, — rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks! The solid earth! The actual world! The common sense! Contact! Contact! Who are we? Where are we?

The spruce and cedar on its shores, hung with gray lichens, looked at a distance like the ghosts of trees. Ducks were sailing here and there on its surface, and a solitary loon, like a more living wave, — a vital spot on the lake's surface, — laughed and frolicked, and showed its straight leg, for our amusement.