Quotes About Trees

so dimly, so gradually, as I wandered along, that only when my home at last lay before me did I cry: 'Now I know why I have been happy!' How words weave spells! As I wrote of the avenue, it rose before my eyes – I can see it now, lined with great smooth-trunked trees whose branches meet far above me. The still air is flooded with peace, yet somehow expectant – as it seemed to me once when I was in King's Crypt cathedral

Love is like sounds, whose last reverberations / Hang on the leaves of strange trees, on mountains / As distant as the curving of the earth, / Where the snow hangs still in the middle of the air. -from Love is Like Sounds

That night I wrote in my journal: Trees are schizophrenic now and beginning to lose control, enraged with the shock of their fiery new colors. Someone -- was it van Gogh? -- said that orange is the color of insanity. _Beauty is terror._ We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.

Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. That night I wrote in my journal: "Trees are schizophrenic now and beginning to lose control, enraged with the shock of their fiery new colors. Someone—was it van Gogh?—said that orange is the color of insanity. Beauty is terror. We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.

The smells, the shadows, even the dappled pale trunks of the plane trees lifted my spirits

Among natural landscapes , however, we show the greatest preference for open spaces dotted with trees , with a little water nearby— picture the views from the high-rises that famously border Central Park in Manhattan; as the biologist E. O. Wilson puts it, "to see most clearly the manifestations of human instinct, it is useful to start with the rich.

The trees had stripped down to their black bones and had heaped leaves in drifts against hedges and walls. Children played amongst them, tossing armfuls into the air, screaming in and out like swimmers at the sea's edge.

The wisdom's in the trees not the glass windows.

And I think that it is certainly possible that the objective universe can be affected by the poet. I mean, you recall Orpheus made the trees and the stones dance and so forth, and this is something which is in almost all primitive cultures. I think it has some definite basis to it. I'm not sure what. It's like telekinesis, which I know very well on a pinball machine is perfectly possible.

The tall trees, compassionate, understood everything: grief - they stood stock-still, branches drooped in despair; fear - they exposed their many roots, tugged their gold hair; anger - they shook in the storm, pointed their bony fingers. - The World of Trees (inspired by the Forest of Burnley)

She had not forgotten the time she was lost - how even while lost she refused to feel the fear, but instead saw only the green beauty of the wildwood, breathing deep the scent of trees, earth, lichen, moss.

It was a gorgeous end-of-summer-just-starting-to-befall day. The trees swayed in the breeze. The sky was the color of cornflowers.

Se mecen los árboles bajo la lluvia tan armoniosamente que le dan a uno ganas de ser árbol.

Little houses, bigger ones, scrolled and capacious porches, dark windows, leaves of trees already rich with May, homes of rooms which chambered sleep as honey is cherished, drifted past their slow walking and were left behind, and not a light in any home.

He always felt different once he was across the river. This was the real, old, deep country, now. Home country. The cabins looked different to him, a little older and poorer and simpler, a little more homelike; the trees and rocks seemed to come differently out of the ground; the air smelled different.

Samuel Johnson Is Indignant: that Scotland has so few trees.

For mile after mile the strangler vines choked the sal trees, one grey trunk encircling another, until the whole jungle resembled some terrible tangled knot in which it was impossible to tell murderer from victim.

I sat on the rocks and thought of the stories I knew of nymphs who wept until they turned into stones and crying birds, into dumb beasts and slender trees, thoughts barked up for eternity. I could not even do that, it seemed. My life closed me in like granite walls.

Si valoro la existencia de los árboles por encima de cualquier otra cosa, de una manera muy

Smoke! Did all human passion burn away and drift in a blue film over the fields, obscure for a moment the sight of the sun and the shapes of the crops and the trees, then fade into air and leave the clear hard day; and no difference anywhere? Not quite! For smoke was burnt tissue, and where fire had raged there was alteration.

He was definitely part of the gang, but he didn't want to get his hands dirty. There were four trucks, and they drove slowly away from the settlement, not far, to a row of sycamore trees. Seth and I knew the place well because we had fished in the creek.

The digital age was dragging older lawyers like the Boones into the world of paperless files and storage, and not a minute too soon... Why destroy so many trees to produce much paper that becomes useless almost as fast as it is filed away?

Thirty today, I saw The trees flare briefly like The candles upon a cake As the sun went down the sky, A momentary flash, Yet there was time to wish Before the light could die, If I had known what to wish, As once I must have known, Bending above the clean, Candlelit tablecloth To blow them out with a breath.

Ignatius, a very bad crack-up is on the way. You must do something. Even volunteer work at a hospital would snap you out of your apathy, and it would probably be non-taxing on your valve and other things. Get out of that womb-house for at least an hour a day. Take a walk, Ignatius. Look at the trees and birds. Realize that life is surging all around you. The valve closes because it thinks it is living in a dead organism. Open your heart, Ignatius, and you will open your valve.