Quotes About Tree

Rock-a-bye-baby on the tree top,When the wind blows the cradle will rock,When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Everything you needed to play baseball was in the Garden of Eden. You had the grass. You had the dirt. You had a branch from a tree to make a bat. There had to be a cow somewhere to give you the ball and the glove. I was telling this story once and some wise guy said: 'Yeah, they even had a snake for the media.

Of winter's lifeless world each tree Now seems a perfect part; Yet each one holds summer's secret Deep down within its heart.

He was one Who could not help it, for it was his nature To blossom into song, as 't is a tree's To leaf itself in April.

A poet builds his nest in the springtime tree of wild reverie, and ends up staying the year.

A few college students readjusted their backpacks over their shoulders as they left the building, and Jade's eyes followed two brunettes making their way across the lawn. Distracted for the moment, he almost walked into a tree, but was given a heads-up by a branch that knocked his sunglasses crooked. After putting them back in place, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed.

The poet is just like the fabled hunter who naps beside a tree, waiting for hares to break their skulls by running headlong into the tree trunk. After waiting for a long time, the poet discovers that he is the hare.

Literature is the product of life. Life is its soil. And the richness or poverty of the soil determines whether a work of literature is vigorous or feeble. A great tree will not grow from barren land; only rich soil and clear water will enable it to flourish.

It was different, though, knowing something in your thoughts and then hearing it confirmed, made real, planted in the world like a tree

Constancio C. Vigil: "Desdichado del hombre que finca su fortuna en la caída de un árbol".

Stejarul face ghinde, dar o ghind? poart? în ea tot stejarul.

muttering Irish, he had had had o'gloriously a lot too much hanguest or hoshoe fine to drink in the House of Blazes, the Parrot in Hell, the Orange Tree, the Gilbt, the Sun, the Holy Lamb and, lapse not leashed, in Ramitdown's ship hotel since the morning moment he could dixtinguish a white thread from a black

Lost, is it, buried? One more missing piece? But nothing's lost. Or else: all is translation And every bit of us is lost in it (Or found — I wander through the ruin of S Now and then, wondering at the peacefulness) And in that loss a self-effacing tree, Color of context, imperceptibly Rustling with its angel, turns the waste To shade and fiber, milk and memory.

Pick a tree. I'll carve our initials into it. -Fang

Yeah, you're sitting in a tree because you're fine . That's easy to see. I can't believe this is Maximum Ride , destroyer of despots, warrior hottie, leader of the flock! All you need now to make yourself more pathetic is a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream!

Fang (sarcasticaly): Go pick out a tree and I'll carve our initials in it. Max: (screams and goes in the bathroom)

Almost faster than my eyes could follow, Angel snatched Celeste and leaped back up into the tree.

ground, impaled on the trunk of a tree that has been shaved down to the point of

The yard consisted of grass and a Russian Olive tree, which was about the only kind of tree able to survive on the high prairies. Its thin, grey leaves made it look as though it were on the verge of dying, thereby fooling the elements and the bad weather into thinking that they didn't have to bother with something so spindly and bent, something so obviously on its last legs.

No, she is wilder, and more hard withal Than beast, or bird, or tree, or stony wall.

Tapping a little bell, I leaned on the desk and turned to look at a small, traditionally decorated Christmas tree on a table near the entranceway. It was complete with shiny, egg-fragile bulbs; miniature candy canes; flat, laughing Santas with arms wide; a star on top nodding awkwardly against the delicate shoulder of an upper branch; and colored lights that bloomed out of flower-shaped sockets. For some reason this seemed to me a sorry little piece.

The least fracture now will be like a name engraved with the point of a pin on the tender rind of a young oak; the wound will enlarge with the tree, and posterity read it in full grown characters.

No family ever put an airport under its Christmas tree.

Not every idea to which some persecutor appeals is, of course, automatically suspect. But when a religious doctrine appears consistently (and over a long period of time) to have destructive effects in the lives of those who accept it, then we have a prima facie reason, surely, to question its soundness. For as Jesus said, "A sound tree cannot [consistently and over a long period of time] bear evil fruit.