Quotes About Leaves

The god, September, has paused for a moment here, garlanded with crimson leaves. He held a branch of fruited oak. He smiled like Hermes the beautiful cut in marble.

So many substances in woodland pharmacies that no one has yet identified. Powerful molecules in bark, pith, and leaves whose effects have yet to be discovered. One family of distress hormones used by her trees—jasmonate—supplies the punch to all those feminine perfumes that play on mystery and intrigue. Sniff me, love me, I'm in trouble. And they are in trouble, all these trees.

The tree bulks out. Its bark spirals upward like Trajan's Column. Its scalloped leaves carry on turning sunlight into tissue. It more than abides; it flourishes, a globe of green health and vigor. And

Also her perfume, which mingled with the crisp air off the lake below, creating an intoxicating mixture of damp earth and leaves and water and girl. Not woman, in Sully's opinion. Girl.

That abandoned house, With its yard of fallen leaves, In the setting sun.

The sun was prying up the clouds and lighting the brick front of the hospital rose red. A thin breeze worked at sawing what leaves were left from the oak trees, stacking them neatly agains the wire cyclone fence. There were little brown birds occasionally on the fence: when a puff of leaves would hit the fence the birds would fly off with the wind. It looked at first like the leaves were hitting the fence and turning into birds and flying away.

I'm sorry to say that the subject I most disliked was mathematics. I have thought about it. I think the reason was that mathematics leaves no room for argument. If you made a mistake, that was all there was to it.

he could feel hot tears coming to his eyes as the image of that night, outside the house as the November wind blew black leaves up off the ground and the sky turned colors like bruised flesh.

a wind has blown the rain away & the sky away & all the leaves away, & the trees stand. i think i, too, have known autumn too long.

Un petit vent posé sur le figuier menait un train du diable dans les grandes feuilles.

As winter strips the leaves from around us, so that we may see the distant regions they formerly concealed, so old age takes away our enjoyments only to enlarge the prospect of the coming eternity.

Wind is in the cane. Come along.Cane leaves swaying, rusty with talk,Scratching choruses above the guinea's squawk,Wind is in the cane. Come along.

The cookie tray goes round and round. Outside, the moon rises. The wind is still. All over town, leaves hang on trees like open hands.

Sternly she tried to frown the unseemly sensation down. Burgeon, indeed. She had heard of dried staffs, pieces of mere dead wood, suddenly putting forth fresh leaves, but only in legend. She was not in legend. She knew perfectly what was due to herself. Dignity demanded that she should have nothing to do with fresh leaves at her age; and yet there it was--the feeling that presently, that at any moment now, she might crop out all green.

but the greater part of my spring happiness is due to the scent of the wet earth and young leaves.

Mark ran to the herbarium to collect the paste of mulberry leaves and the unguent of Our Lady's mantle, known specifics for burns

When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces,The mother of months in meadow or plainFills the shadows and windy placesWith lisp of leaves and ripple of rain;And the brown bright nightingale amorousIs half assuaged for Itylus,For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces,The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.

And a bird overhead sang Follow, And a bird to the right sang Here; And the arch of the leaves was hollow, And the meaning of May was clear.

Then star nor sun shall waken, Nor any change of light: Nor sound of waters shaken, Nor any sound or sight: Nor wintry leaves nor vernal; Nor days nor things diurnal; Only the sleep eternal In an eternal night.

Els ocells visiten els arbres sense fulles, però no sense fulles com a l'hivern; ara les branques s'enrigideixen, les puntes dels branquillons resplendeixen com la flama d'una espelma.

all I could think of all that week was flowers for breath and flowers for eyes and mouths full of flowers, armpits of them, the backs of knees, laps, groins overflowing with flowers and all I could draw was leaves and flowers, the whorls of roses, the dark foliage.

One blink of a camera eye (can't quite put his finger on the name of the photographer) and that child dressed in leaves became all these things: sad, terribly, beautiful, funny, terrifying, dark, light, charming, fairystory, folkstory, truth.

The leaves have mostly fallen, so the pines are having their glorious reign.

The smooth beeches held up their glass-clear leaves to the sun, and the light strained through them like water through a sieve.