Quotes About Leaves

This scroll, majestic in its severe simplicity, illuminated a little slip of front garden abutting on the thirsty high-road, where a few of the dustiest of leaves hung their dismal heads and led a life of choking.

The clear cold sunshine glances into the brittle woods, and approvingly beholds the sharp wind scattering the leaves and drying the moss. It glides over the park after the moving shadows of the clouds, and chases them, and never catches them, all day. It looks in the windows, and touches the ancestral portraits with bars and patches of brightness, never contemplated by the painters.

Miss Tox left her seat in a hurry, and returned to her plants; clipping among the stems and leaves, with as little favour as a barber working at so many pauper heads of hair.

...and as I removed the leaves, I saw a most wonderful congregation of these little Ladybugs — the ground was literally red with them for quite a distance around...

The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.

Nature's beautiful dancers — flowers, water, leaves Dancing to the music of a sweet gentle breeze...

The world is tired, the year is old, The faded leaves are glad to die...

come scarlet leaves and falling light this time of year — October-blood runs through the veins of autumn — slowing heartbeat and longer breaths shorter daytimes and chilling nights warm hearts and sanguine thoughts

...the swirling autumn leaves of a poet's dying words...

I can smell autumn dancing in the breeze. The sweet chill of pumpkin and crisp sunburnt leaves.

October is the month When the smallest breeze Gives us a shower Of autumn leaves. Bonfires and pumpkins, Leaves sailing down — October is red And golden and brown...

Best I love September's yellow; Morns of dew-strung gossamer, Thoughtful days without a stir, Rooky clamours, brazen leaves, Stubbles dotted o'er with sheaves,— More than Spring's bright uncontrol Suit the Autumn of my soul.

September flits through the year on golden autumnal wings — it lands on the leaves of October which wilt and drift into winter —

Mustering flocks of blackbirds call; Here and there a few leaves fall; In the meadows larks sing sweet, Chirps the cricket at our feet,— In September.

The Autumn Leaves they skip; When blasts the trees are stripping; Bounding, whirling, Sweeping, twirling, And in wanton Mazes curling...

Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go? Or are ye angels, bearing home The host unseen Of truant spirits, to be clad Again in green?

Autumn teaches us that fruition is also death; that ripeness is a form of decay. The willows, having stood for so long near water, begin to rust. Leaves are verbs that conjugate the seasons.

Coffee—a barbaric drink. That poor, tortured bean. All that fermenting and husking and roasting and grinding. And what is tea? Tea is dried leaves rehydrated. Just add water, Mrs. Strickland. All living things need water.

There's music along the river For Love wanders there, Pale flowers on his mantle, Dark leaves on his hair.

A gust of wind blows in through the porch with the sound of shaken leaves. The flame of the lamp leaps.

Rain has fallen all the day O come among the laden trees. The leaves lie thick upon the way Of memories. Staying a little by the way Of memories shall we depart. Come, my beloved, where I may Speak to your heart.

So the leaves were falling slowly in the cool breezes, and of those left on the trees few were green. Most were brown and red and gold, and when they piled up on the ground and were rained on, they smelled awfully good, although it was a sort of lonesome, musty smell.

Conversation is three women stand on the corner talking. Gossip is when one of them leaves.

The critic leaves at curtain fall To find, in starting to review it, He scarcely saw the play at all For starting to review it.