Quotes About Grass

It seems to me that Montana is a great splash of grandeur. The scale is huge but not overpowering. The land is rich with grass and color, and the mountains are the kind I would create if mountains were ever put on my agenda. Montana seems to me to be what a small boy would think Texas is like from hearing Texans.

Lying On The Grass The solid earth has never yet complained. There is only the slight scrape Of the accommodating grass Adjusting around your body its bent blades. Part the grass with fingertips To follow the travels of ants And expeditions of other insects Through the weeds. On your forearm A light green mite Is blown when you breathe From its perch, a sunlit hair.

On the course, what is feared is like a magnet. Water, bunkers, trees, ravines, high grass - whatever you fear turns magnetic.

I asked the waiter, 'Is this milk fresh?' He said, 'Lady, three hours ago it was grass.'

Pigs eat grass if they are very hungry, but they can't use it as a regular source of food.

The miracle of the light pours over the green and brown expanse of saw grass and of water, shining and slow-moving below, the grass and water that is the meaning and the central fact of the Everglades of Florida. It is a river of grass.

There are no other Everglades in the world…. The miracle of the light pours over the green and brown expanse of saw grass and of water, shining and slow-moving below, the grass and water that is the meaning of the central fact of the Everglades of Florida. It is a river of grass.

If you really want to be a rebel get a job, cut your grass, read your bible, and shut up. Because no one is doing that.

Hello," said Brannoc politely, despite his terrible hangover. "What the hell are you?" demanded the squirrel. "We are fairies," answered Brannoc, and the squirrel fell on the grass laughing, because New York squirrels are cynical creatures and do not believe in fairies.

Some kind of magic, happens late at night. When the moon, smiles down at me, it bathes me in its light. I fell asleep beside you, in the tall blades of grass. When I woke, the world was new, I never had to ask. Its a brand new day, the sun is shining, its a brand new day. For the first time, in such a long, long time, I know, I'll be okay.

In the ghetto there is a mansion, and it is my father's house... Its expansive lawn is utterly useless, wild like it smokes its own grass and dreams of being a jungle.

Here, where a thousand captains swore grand conquest… tall grass their monument

Anne Sexton knows the mind, Walt Whitman knows grass, but Emily Dickinson knows everything.

Newton dragging me forward until we reached a large stretch of grass. This is what dogs liked to do, I discovered. They liked tout, I had to admit, it worked for them, and for Newton in particular. It was a collective illusion they had chosen to swallow and they were submitting to it wholeheartedly, without any nostalgia for their former wolf selves.

All I wanted to do was lie in the dry grass with my feet in a ditch forever. I could be a convenient sort of milemarker, I thought. Get to the thief and you know you're halfway to Methana.

Primero, el sufrimiento El universo grita. El hormigón acusa la violencia con la que fue fraguado como muro. El hormigón grita. La hierba gimotea bajo los dientes del animal, ¿Y el hombre? ¿Qué diremos del hombre?

Molly wondered if these boys really loved baseball, the sound and smell of it, the rhythm of it, the leather and wood, the grass and dirt, the story and surprise in a good game.

Finally, she mused that human existence is as brief as the life of autumn grass, so what was there to fear from taking chances with your life?

As a child who grew up in a grassy field, enjoying little formal education, I know virtually nothing about literary theories and have had to rely solely upon my own experiences and intuitive understanding of the world to write.

The Arboretum's overgrown grass rustled. The branches of an apple tree shook as though an animal had jumped from one to the next. A wind slid up my thighs, in the night, under my short nightgown. Crickets and cicadas made a sound like distant laughing children, the laugh track to a sitcom that didn't end. It was like the grass was full of tiny giggling babies. So beautiful, and creepy.

My head was so light. Wind sang through the field grass. The same wind brushed hair off my face, soft as my mother's hand, and when the falling snow started to clump into flakes, each thick flake came down with the love of a frozen kiss, like somebody was saving up, freezing their warm love for later.

She was gentle and sedate as usual, but evidently absent and preoccupied. Her eyes rested on the dew lying on the grass in the garden, and her ears were intent upon the melancholy singing of the autumn insects. It was as if we were in a real romance.

It's really quite a beautiful setting for an estate, in a woods of towering aspen trees near a field of high soft blue grass where pink cows sleep.

A hawk sailed past the sun, its shadow slithering in the grass.