Quotes About Leaves

In school, I could hear the leaves rustle and go on a journey.

The trees were turning now. Yellow, russet, orange, and shades of brown formed a canopy above them as they walked through maples, sycamores, elms, and birches.

I shall be loved as quiet things Are loved--white pigeons in the sun, Curled yellow leaves that whisper down One after one; The silver reticence of smoke That tells no secret of its birth Among the fiery agonies That turn the earth.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

Sometimes I ask myself how autumn smells? My answer: it's the smell of the autumn leaves firework and red wine.

As is the generation of leaves, so is that of humanity. The wind scatters the leaves on the ground, but the live timber burgeons with leaves again in the season of spring returning. So one generation of men will grow while another 150  dies. Yet if you wish to learn all this and be certain of my genealogy: there are plenty of men who know it.

Very like leaves upon this earth are the generations of men— old leaves, cast on the ground by wind, young leaves the greening forest bears when spring comes in. So mortals pass; one generation flowers even as another dies away.

Generations of men are like the leaves. In winter, winds blow them down to earth, but then, when spring season comes again, the budding wood grows more. And so with men: one generation grows, another dies away.

If colleges and universities are really concerned about women's rights, then they must adjust to a far more flexible structure to allow young women students to take leaves of absence if they want to have children early.

The nice thing about living in a semi-small town is that I can just go home and switch off. I go home now and I trim roses, rake leaves, wake up early in the morning and scare the raccoons off the lawn! It's kinda nice, that's the way I turn off, in Bakersfield, California.

I believe the structure of 'House of Leaves' is far more difficult to explain than it is to read. And while I'd like to lay claim to some extraordinary act of originality, truth is I'm only taking advantage of capabilities inherent in everyone.

In June the bush we call alder was heavy, listless, its leaves studded with galls, growing wherever we didn't want it.

Evolutionary biologists have long pondered the phenomenon of the changing colours of autumn leaves. It's possible that the red pigments are manufactured in the leaf as a side-effect of something else that's happening at this time.

While outside the window, the raindrops pitter pattered on leaves that shivered and sparkled, inside we made love for the first time!

Autumn is hereand I am in love.My heart has taken residence in my mind.I pick the crisp ochre leaves and put them in my pocket.I am in love.

By now, the morning sun was just over the horizon and it came at me like a sidearm pitch between the houses of my old neighborhood. I shielded my eyes. This being early October, there were already piles of leaves pushed against the curb—more leaves than I remembered from my autumns here—andless open space in the sky. I think what you notice most when you haven't been home in a while is how much the trees have grown around your memories.

And among the leaves were white flowers with petals half-unfolded like the lips of people smiling at their own thoughts.

The Dragon raised a hand. "Kulkias vizhkias haishimad," he said, and a light shone out of his hand and onto her skin. Where it played over her I saw thick green shadows, mottled like deep layers of leaves on leaves. Something looked at me out of her eyes, its face still and strange and inhuman. I recognized it: what looked out at me was the same thing I had felt in the Wood, trying to find me. There was no trace of Kasia left at all.

Not a hundred feet away the river roared over a cliff's-edge, and were weren't really leaves, even if I'd been careful to forget that.

The hot stifling room had gone even more stifling, a thickness like the worst days of summer, the air hot and moist under a smothering weight of still leaves that stopped the wind from ever getting through.

Not a hundred feet away the river roared over a cliff's-edge, and we weren't really leaves, even if I'd been careful to forget that.

Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands, Comes and touches you With a thousand memories, And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

sight of Clarice Starling running through the falling leaves on the forest path was well established now in the memory palace of his mind. It is a source of pleasure

The smell of leaves and wet black earth mingled with the sharp smell of the sea.