Quotes About Tree

He thinks you were trapped in a tree in the 1920s. How is that not crazy?

BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there;

when he walks, he sounds like a tree still full of dead leaves holding on.

Falling life You are in a very high tree. If you jump you will live a full life while falling. You will get married to a hummingbird and raise beautiful part- hummingbirds. You will die of cancer in mid-air. I will not lie. it will be painful. You are a brave little boy or girl.

Sunt înc?rcat cu amintiri ca un m?r, în toamn?. Scutura?i pomul ?i, dac? nu cad destule fructe, da?i cu pietre în el, sau, ?i mai bine, lovi?i-i fiecare creang? cu pr?jina. Pentru mine, amintirile sunt o grea povar?. Iau de pe inima mea o parte din aceast? povar? cu fiecare carte pe care o scriu.

Like picnics—only when you're sure of a good roof over your head would you even think of eating out of doors, of making a song and dance about eating under a tree.

Smoking cheap Spanish filthy sock-tobacco under a pine tree was so much better than trying to hold it together on escalators. There was something comforting about being literally lost when I was lost in every other way...

Life is like a tree and its root is consciousness. Therefore, once we tend the root, the tree as a whole will be healthy.

According to an ancient Upanishad, the human mind is like two birds sitting on a branch. One of the birds is eating the fruit of the tree while the other lovingly looks on.

Buddha sitting under the Bodhi tree and Jesus wrestling with demons in the desert are symbolic of the same drama of the soul that you were born to repeat.

The car was originally owned by a man who had made a fortune manufacturing bidis, the cheap cigarettes wrapped in the leaf of the ebony tree and tied at one end with a string.

Fire he sang, that trees fear, and I, a tree, rejoiced in its flames. New buds broke forth from me though it was full summer. As though his lyre (now I knew its name) were both frost and fire, its chords flamed up to the crown of me. I was seed again. I was fern in the swamp. I was coal. ("A Tree Telling of Orpheus")

How shall I speak thee, or thy power address Thou God of our idolatry, the Press. . . . . Like Eden's dead probationary tree, Knowledge of good and evil is from thee.

Inside the car, Lily stared at the tree right in front of her as bucketfuls of wet Georgia red clay, the color of blood, just sprayed up from her car, dripped slowly down the trunk.

No, the only good was to be found in non-existence or, if one had to exist, in being a tree, a stone, or lower still, a grain of sand, for that cannot bleed under the heel of every passer-by.

Bana göre ise en büyük mutluluk, bat? rüzgar? eserken, gökte de pamuk gibi beyaz bulutlar uçuÅŸurken, h???r h???r eden yemyeÅŸil bir aÄŸaçta sallanmakt?r.

Experiment to me Is every one I meet. If it contain a kernel? The figure of a nut Presents upon a tree, Equally plausibly; But meat within is requisite, To squirrels and to me.

Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam, Seek it with the knife, Baffle, if it cost you Everything in life. Then, if it have burrowed Out of reach of skill, Ring the tree and leave it, — 'Tis the vermin's will.

To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing — Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird Who sings the same, unheard, As unto Crowd — The Fashion of the Ear Attireth that it hear In Dun, or fair — So whether it be Rune, Or whether it be none Is of within. The Tune is in the Tree — The Skeptic — showeth me — No Sir! In Thee!

Why is a Christmas tree better than a man? Because it stays up, has cute balls, and looks good with the lights on!

We're standing on the deck that's all wooden like the deck of a ship. There's fuzz on it, little bundles. Grandma says it's some kind of pollen from a tree. Which one? I'm staring up at all the differents. Can't help you there, I'm afraid. In Room we knowed what everything was called but in the world there's so much, persons don't even know the names.

Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

rude little man!' 'We'd better not look in at any windows we pass,' said Joe. 'But I was so surprised to see a window in the tree!' Beth soon got dry. They climbed up again, and soon had another surprise. They came to a broad branch that led to a yellow door set neatly in the big trunk of

Don't you worry about that, Mr. Adamsson. Why don't you head back to Reykjavik and spend some of that extortionate fee you charged me for a couple of hours' usage of your frankly third-rate restaurant and perhaps find a friendless tree stump to listen to your woes?