Quotes About Lush

Romance is mush, stifling those who strive.I'll live a lush life in some small dive,And there I'll be, while I rot with the restOf those whose lives are lonely, too.

New Jersey was hard to define because it was a hodgepodge. Up north, it was the suburbs of New York City. To the southwest, it was the suburbs of Philadelphia. Those two major cities drained resources and attention from New Jersey's own urban centers, leaving Newark and Camden and the like sucking for life like a retiree with an oxygen tank at an Atlantic City casino. The suburbs were lush and green. The cities were destitute and concrete. And so it goes.

Jax Cassidy is delightful! Her lush, lyrical way with words will draw you in and keep you turning the pages.

Summer has weeks left, but once the calendar displays the word "September," you'd think it was Latin for "evacuate." I pity them for missing the best weather and the most energized time of year…It's an extremely impressive display of life at the apogee of summer, the year's productivity mounded and piled past the angle of repose. It is a world lush with the living, a world that-despite the problems- still has what it takes to really produce.

snow had wondrously returned. It pleased her to see anew the draped quality in the air, the muslin white descending, the animation, the plenitude. The symbol suggested itself – that there might be a white-washing now, and a more complete covering over. Snow is consolation, she thought; snow is this padding and cladding, this lush erasure of signs. She was surprised at how rested and serene she felt.

'All the Stars in the Heavens' takes place during the golden age of Hollywood, around an imagined story about Loretta Young; Clark Gable; Alda, a young woman with a secret who is preparing to become a nun but is cast out of her convent; and the scenic artist she meets on the set of 'The Call of the Wild.' It's a big, lush historical novel.

In June the bush we call alder was heavy, listless, its leaves studded with galls, growing wherever we didn't want it.

Those are my dreams. Buy mum a house, build a school in Rwanda. Then carry on making enough money to buy soaps from Lush.

Whatever was carrying me dropped me again with an ungraceful thump, and I lay gasping and throat-sore on the earth—the warm earth, lush with soft green grass, though it silvered with frost in a circle around where the Staryk knelt.

Sun rays found their way through the leaves, and the creek bubbled along like it had nowhere to go and all day to get there.

The ground was so full of life that it could not contain itself, erupting everywhere in a delirium of vegetation.

There is no substitute for a real location when you're trying to shoot the jungle. You can't just go anywhere. You've got to go where it's lush and green and there really is those mountain ranges, the trees and the ocean.

the edge of an island where green things grow, or the parapet

I like to focus on making the music sound simple and true, and very lush and full. I think music should take you to somewhere else where you have the space to contemplate or exercise your imagination. All the while you should be feeling real good, like when you have a delicious and decadent meal, macaroni and cheese or foie gras.

The garden, for long untended, was an overgrown riot of uninhibited flowers and weeds in which whirled, squeaked, rustled

When I was coming up in Miami, the music in the city at the time sounded completely different. I loved it, but it just wasn't the type of music I wanted to make. I wanted my wordplay to be more sophisticated. I wanted the sound to be more lush. I wanted my music to sound like who I was and aspired to be - boss.

the sprawling branches of the maple tree were plush with autumn.

Endings are lush and lascivious, Vince; they call to me. All spread out on satin inevitabilities, waiting, beckoning, promising impossibly, obscenely elegant solutions—if you've been a good lad and dressed the house just so, for its comfort, for its arousal. All the rest of the nonsense a story requires is must a long seduction of the ending.

in a winter fireplace burns the fantasy of spring — wildflowers flaming across a lush wooded landscape

It was no amalgam of colors comparable to anything in mortal existence. It was as if all natural colors had been mutated into a painfully lush iridescence by some prism fantastically corrupted in its form; it was a rainbow staining the sky after a poison deluge; it was an aurora painting the darkness with a blaze of insanity, a blaze that did not burn vigorously but shimmered with an insect-jeweled frailness.

I love everything about spring! Reeks of hope, new lease on another year, blooming possibilities, lush beds of violet wildflowers along the interstate, nature's annual migration: whooping cranes, manatees, Canadians.

A purple African violet so lush and fleshy it looked edible... his fingers as cool and smooth as beach stones.

Water fell from the sky and dripped from the branches, streaming down the gully of the trail. I walked beneath the enormous trees, the forest canopy high above me, the bushes and low-growing plants that edged the trail soaking me as I brushed past. Wet and miserable as it was, the forest was magical—Gothic in its green grandiosity, both luminous and dark, so lavish in its fecundity that it looked surreal, as if I were walking through a fairy tale rather than the actual world.

I saw meadows and trees burning a young, fiery green, as if leaves had just opened, as if green itself had never existed before. I breathed heavy, golden air that might have pooled all summer over roses blooming in every color on a hundred trees.