Quotes About Leaves

autumn leaves and earth. She wondered if Margo might be willing to drive down to Maine with her for one last holiday. October light was gorgeous at the beach and they could have a

In the dense green of the canopy, with the rich blue of the sky between the leaves; with a breeze keeping her skin cool, and the faint scent of the flowers delighting her whenever she sensed it; with the rustle of the leaves, the song of the hundreds of birds, and the distant murmur of the waves on the seashore, all her senses were lulled and nurtured, and if she could have stopped thinking, she would have been entirely lapped in bliss.

He must be some escaped lunatic. Said an early Boston review of Leaves of Grass.

Evidence," Mayne insisted. "That's how you capture criminals and put them in prison. Every criminal leaves a trail. Look for it. Follow it. I want details.

If someone asked her just then what memory was, what the purest definition of memory was, she would say this: the street you were on when you first jumped in a pile of dead leaves. She was walking it right now. With every fresh crunch came the memory of previous crunches. She was permeated by familiar smells: wet woodchip and gravel around the base of the tree, newly laid turd underneath the cover of soggy leaves. She was moved by these sensations.

Spring time in Florida is not a matter of peeping violets or bursting buds merely. It is a riot of color, in nature—glistening green leaves, pink, blue, purple, yellow blossoms that fairly stagger the visitor from the north.

A wilted breeze slipped in through the open window and riffled the leaves of the Varga calendar and the brunette in the red bathing suit wiggled her hips at me. She was wasting her time.

Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves, We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!

And the shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves interlace with low voices and footsteps and sunlight to divide us forever.

It was dark now, and broodingly sluggish. Like something supine waiting to spring, with just the tip of its tail twitching. Leaves stood still on the trees. An evil green star glinted in the black sky like a hostile eye, like an evil spying eye. ("For The Rest Of Her Life")

In November, the trees are standing all sticks and bones. Without their leaves, how lovely they are, spreading their arms like dancers. They know it is time to be still.

It's a great blessing to have a good memory . . . it's my picture book and I can turn over the leaves when I like. So many of my memories are centred here in Dunnian, so many people have lived in the old house. There were seven of us and they're all dead except me, but I can see them if I shut my eyes. Their youth is here—still here in Dunnian.

It rained in Hampshire yesterday, a soft autumn storm that brought down hardly any leaves. The dahlias are no longer in stem, and frost has withered the chrysanthemums, but the air smells divine, like old leaves and wet bark, and ripe apples. Have you ever noticed that each month has its own smell? May and October are the nicest-smelling months, in my opinion.

As she reached the entrance hall, she saw Lady St. Vincent coming in from the back terrace, her cheeks wind-brightened, the hem of her gown littered with bits of leaves and grass. She looked like an untidy angel, with her lovely calm face and rippling red hair, and the playful spray of light gold freckles across her nose.

Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it; the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves.

Death, lonely death, Beneath the withered leaves.

Love is the kiss in the quiet nest while the leaves are trembling, mirrored in the water.

And at that moment a wind came out of the northwest, and entered the woods and bared the golden branches, and danced over the downs, and led a company of scarlet and golden leaves, that had dreaded this day but danced now it had come; and away with a riot of dancing and glory of colour, high in the light of the sun that had set from the sight of the fields, went wind and leaves together.

Pru Harris's mom had taught her to make wishes on pink cars, falling leaves, and brass lamps, because wishing on something as ordinary as stars or wishing wells was a sign of no imagination. Clearly

Thank you leaf blowers, for making me look like the world's lamest Ghostbuster. I ain't afraid of no leaves.

It's too early for strawberries. But the clearing is filled with their leaves and their little white flowers, like fallen stars. The wishing well was covered, too, so that only someone who knew it was there would have really noticed it. It looks like a barrow under the green; somewhere fairies or goblins might live.

Now for the base note of the bean: a wild and bitter blackberry, like fruit picked after the turn of the year. It smells of woodland, and falling leaves, and the dark scent of winter spices.

A tree that allows birds to nest in it should never complain about its shred leaves.

Once I came back to the leaves just as they were falling into the rattling of magpies and the waving flights through treetops beyond the long field tawny with stubble a scatter of sheep wandered there circling slowly as a galaxy ferrying the gray lights that were theirs wading into their shadows with the stalks whispering under them and the day shining out of the straw