Quotes About Crickets

Just a wee cot-the crickets chirr-love and the smiling face of her.

I listened to birds and crickets, looking for the ways that rhythm appears most naturally in the world. I listened to the Smithsonian's field recordings of pygmy choirs from Africa.

We sat in the car & the night dropped down until the only sounds were the crickets & the dance of our voices & for a moment the world became small enough to roll back & forth between us.

I love being outdoors. I love listening to the crickets. I want to embrace nature.

I love the Mexican chapulines. These little crickets are beautifully roasted with salt and lime.

What gives a wriggle And makes you giggle When you eat'em? Whose weensy little feet Make my heart really beat? Why, it's those little creepy crawlies That make me feel so jolly. For the darling centipede My favorite buggy feed I always want some more. That's the insect I adore More than beetles, more than crickets, Which at times gives me the hiccups. I crave only to feed On a juicy centipede And I shall be happy forevermore." -Soren

The pastures, fields, and scrubby groves they crossed were vigorous with bees, and crickets leapt before them as if each step released a spring and flung them up like pebbles.

The stars were out in full, the crickets a little quieter. He had enjoyed talking to Allie and wondered what she'd thought about his life, hoping it would somehow make a difference, if it could.

When we walked the mowed margins of the field in the evenings, a school of black crickets sprang ahead of us like dolphins in front of a ship.

No longer was it a hundred crickets screeching, but a choir, a hundred crickets singing a chorus of praise, just like the Scripture that she and Mis Lill had written in their letters for years. "The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; He will save, He will rejoice over thee with joy; He will rest in His love, He will joy over thee with singing.

Slowly the night is falling, Falling down from the hill, And all in the low green valley The dew lies heavy and chill; The crickets cry in the hedges, The bats are circling low, And like ghosts through the blossoming garden The glimmering night-moths go...

Earth was the constant noise of crickets and winds and birds. And the voice of one girl, who spoke to him out of his far-off childhood. The same voice that had once protected him from terror. The same voice that he would do anything to keep alive, even return to school, even leave Earth behind again for another four or forty or four thousand years. Even if she loved Peter more.

Night fell long and cool through the woods about him and a spectral quietude set in. As if something were about that crickets and nightbirds held in dread.

From out of your heart, you speak." -Emma, When Crickets Cry

The stars wire the sky together and the crickets fill the shadows of the earth with their breath.

Silence And a deeper silence When the crickets Hesitate

It was summer again, and the summer nights smelled like murdered grass and sounded like crickets fucking.

If 'dead' matter has reared up this curious landscape of fiddling crickets, song sparrows, and wondering men, it must be plain even to the most devoted materialists that the matter of which he speaks contains amazing, if not dreadful, powers, and may not impossibly be, as Thomas Hardy has suggested, 'but one mask of many worn by the Great Face behind.

The crickets still sing in October. And lilly, she's trying to bloom. Tho she's resting her head on the shoulder of death, she still shines by the light of the moon.

it was a clear night, with crickets and a million stars

My sheets were damp with sweat. I got up and stuck my head out the window and took a few breaths. The chill air was so refreshing that I decided to put on some clothes and go for a walk. The moon was full and very bright. Everything was silent except for the chirp of the crickets and the full foamy toss of the wind in the trees.

At night, every living thing competes for a chance to be heard. The crickets and frogs call out. Sometimes, there's the soft who-whoo of an owl lost amid the pines. Even the dogs won't rest until they've howled at the moon. But the crickets always win, long after the frogs stop croaking and the owl has found its way home. Long after the dogs have lain down losing the battle against sleep, the crickets keep going as though they know their song is our lullaby.

Remarked The night was warm And breathless. Crickets chirred. Close the screen, She said, You'll let stars in.

When the winds of March are wakening the crocuses and crickets, Did you ever find a fairy near some budding little thickets,... And when she sees you creeping up to get a closer peek She tumbles through the daffodils, a playing hide and seek.