Quotes About Trees

Behind the building rose towering, aged pine trees whose shadows fell crabbed and arthritic across the lawn. The lawn was expansive and in good, green shape. It offered contrast. It was like a fresh haircut on a drunken tramp.

As I age in the world it will rise and spread, and be for this place horizon and orison, the voice of its winds. I have made myself a dream to dream of its rising, that has gentled my nights. Let me desire and wish well the life these trees may live when I no longer rise in the mornings to be pleased with the green of them shining, and their shadows on the ground, and the sound of the wind in them.

it charms mere eyesight to believe The nearest thing not trees Is the sky, into which The trees reach, opening their luminous new leaves… and thought finds rest beneath a brightened tree In which, unseen, a warbler feeds and sings. His song's Small shapely melody Comes down irregularly, as all light's givings come." Sabbaths 1999 III

Never make it without the compass. In the trees, I'd lose all sense of perspective. Direction. Maybe life is like that.

I was already dozing off in the shade, dreaming that the rustling trees were my many selves explaining themselves all at the same time so that I could not make out a single word. My life was a beautiful mystery on the verge of understanding, always on the verge! Think of it!

Why do you never see elephants hiding up in trees? Because they're really good at it. I'm reading an anti-gravity book. I can't put it down!

The air came alive with the sound of the wind whipping the trees at times and at other times it was profoundly hushed by the endless silencing snow. Everything but me seemed utterly certain of itself. The sky didn't wonder where it was.

Here there are very beautiful fields with olive trees, which are grey and silvery green, like pollard willows. And I never get tired of the blue sky..

Plants are the young of the world, vessels of health and vigor; but they grope ever upward towards consciousness; the trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment, rooted in the ground.

It has been said that trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment rooted in the ground. But they never seem so to me. I never saw a discontented tree. They grip the ground as though they liked it, and though fast rooted they travel about as far as we do. They go wandering forth in all directions with every wind, going and coming like ourselves, traveling with us around the sun two million miles a day, and through space heaven knows how fast and far!

Trees are the fairest ornaments of nature.

The trees are whispering to me, reminding me of my roots, and my reach... shhhhhh... can you hear them? Selflessly sharing their subtle song.

...Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees Bending to counterfeit a breeze...

It is rather like living in a vast cosmic mood-swing here... I woke to trees iced in silver and an April sky, sunlight breaking through the clouds.

moonlit winter trees bare branches paint gray shadows ghostly risen roots

May brooks and trees and singing hills Join in the chorus too, And every gentle wind that blows Send happiness to you.

If you would know strength and patience, welcome the company of trees.

A woodland in full color is awesome as a forest fire, in magnitude at least, but a single tree is like a dancing tongue of flame to warm the heart.

Your love is like the trees gently blowing through my mind. You heart is streamed with leaves delicate as the seasons. Your soul is as the memory of all that heaven divulges.

Perhaps we know that one day we will have to release what we are tired of feeding and caring for, when the song of the trees is all we can hope to hear.

Sifting through the sieve of branches, a dusting of sugar over the cereal of dead leaves. An inch of snow accumulated through the night: slow, slow confectioners' sugar coming down through the thick limbs of fir and maple and oak.

There is, in the heart, the hard-rendering profit. As if we were plucking the leaves from the trees.

They don't realize that it takes tax dollars to keep a city afloat and you can't get taxes from weeds and trees. But you can from hotels and other businesses. All my father wanted was a reasonable balance between nature and development and was killed for it.

Somewhere hidden away was the culmination of the serious shopping of the past weeks, trees, turkeys, families sitting on settees. Like in the pictures she has seen in magazines. Private people, she thought, made private by the cold.