Quotes About Crickets

Home to her was much more. It was the wild terrain of her mind. A world of hummingbirds and crickets and alabaster and dots on a disc of snow. To Emily Dickinson, home was consciousness itself—a continent of language where metaphor was her native tongue.

The crickets were back and the news was bad. The first thing seemed to signal the other if one were to look for signs. Earlier that morning the sun lay on the horizon like an egg that didn't break right, and all day it had threatened to rain

A campfire blazed on the sand, the lake shone in the moonlight, and the stars twinkled high overhead. All around them the woods were black as pitch. There wasn't a sound except for the crackling of the fire, the chirping crickets

Zveket stakla, posuda, svjetiljaka, stravi?na vika na polutamnoj verandi, a vani u no?i vjetar u kestenovima, cvr?ci, mjese?ina i rosnata, zelena, zvjezdana tišina.

He says tools but somebody will mention the cutting edges of things and one will see billhook, scythe, fauchard, debris, wood chips and sketches all entangled like words in summertime, when crickets and corn, lives and vines, sunflowers and stormy hours touch and quench one another.

The crickets, too, respect the silence. Their calls are like careful stitches in its fabric, almost too small to be seen.

On this side were only low hisses, a ticking and chirping, a simmering crackle like a million crickets, hellfire crickets, singing of apocalypse and char.