Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
In the journey of the year, the autumn is Venice, spring is Naples, certainly, and the majestic maturity of summer is Rome.
I don't think people realizemilie-autumn-devils-carnivale that, once you turn your director's cut in, it's no longer yours.
Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they're falling like they're falling in love with the ground.
The lands are lit with all the autumn blaze of golden-rod, and everywhere the purple asters nod and bend and wave and flit.
Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.
It follows the seasons, beginning each year with the fond expectancy of springtime and ending with the hard facts of autumn.
He types his labored column - weary drudge! Senile fudge and solemn: spare, editor, to condemn these dry leaves of his autumn.
It's autumn in New York. The colors are changing yellow, the browns, the greens, the oranges. And that's just the tap water.
It?s a beautiful descent in a 737, into the Bitterroot Valley, following the Clark Fork River, on a perfect golden autumn day .
The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
Autumn is full of leave-taking. In September the swallows are chattering of destination and departure like a crowd of tourists.
The first breath of autumn was in the air, a prodigal feeling, a feeling of wanting, taking, and keeping before it is too late.
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
But I do feel a little teeny right now that I'm just about ready to start, and winter is entering. Half past autumn has arrived.
But a haiku by Buson came into his mind: 'I try to forget this senile love; a chilly autumn shower.' The gloom only grew denser.
There is something of the same pleasure in noticing the hues of the stars that there is in looking at a flower garden in autumn.
Nothing is more fleeting than external form, which withers and alters like the flowers of the field at the appearance of autumn.
In a world of universal poverty The philosophers alone will be fat Against the autumn winds In an autumn that will be perpetual.
Change is a measure of time and, in the autumn, time seems speeded up. What was is not and never again will be; what is is change.
It is a vast wilderness of rocks in a sea of light, colored and glowing like oak and maple in autumn, when the sun gold is richest
A breath, whence no man knows, Swaying the grating weeds, it blows; It comes, it grieves, it goes. Once it rocked the summer rose.
A lonely Autumn leaf on the road by sticking to another one becomes more resistant to harsh winds. Unity is the midwife of security!
No lake is beautiful without the sky, without the mist or without the trees and the autumn leaves! No beauty is beautiful in itself!
Beauty for some provides escape, who gain a happiness in eyeing the gorgeous buttocks of the ape or Autumn sunsets exquisitely dying.
The lush green of the fields became a rich gold that swayed sturdily under the wind and fell at last before the hands of the reapers.
Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain, Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tune That death smote silent when he smote again.
0 summer friendship, whose flat-tering leaves shadowed us in our prosperity, With the least gust, drop off in the autumn of adversity.
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.
Every season hath its pleasure; Spring may boast her flowery prime, Yet the vineyard's ruby treasuries Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time.
The spirits of the air live on the smells Of fruit; and joy, with pinions light, roves round The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.
Ere, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have put their glory on.
Here will I live in the rainy season, here in the autumn and in the summer: thus muses the fool. He realizes not the danger (of death).
The sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality.
Sad that our finest aspiration, Our freshest dreams and meditations, In swift succession should decay, Like Autumn leaves that rot away.
There are rainy days in autumn and stormy days in winter when the rocking chair in front of the fire simply demands an accompanying book.
Not sorry, not calling, not crying All will pass like smoke of white apple trees Seized by the gold of autumn, I will no longer be young.
All in November's soaking mist We stand and prune the naked tree, While all our love and interest Seem quenched in the blue-nosed misery.
anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn't he danced his did.
When, in the autumn of 1947, I was fired from the first and only job I have ever held, I wanted one thing out of life: to become a writer.
In warlike pomp, with banners flowing, The regiments of autumn stood: I saw their gold and scarlet glowing From every hillside, every wood.
It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves.
So, just for one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung.
The autumn wind is a Raider, / Pillaging just for fun; / He'll knock you around, / And upside down, / And laugh when he's conquered and won.
A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On terms Like these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.
There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings as now in October.
For the Fall of the year is more than three months bounded by an equinox and a solstice. It is a summing up without the finality of year's end.
A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.
Autumn that year painted the countryside in vivid shades of scarlet, saffron and russet, and the days were clear and crisp under harvest skies.
I love the autumn for its sense of melancholy seems to strike my need for sadness. There is poetry in the dying of the year and mystery as well.
I love corduroys, because they are really comfy and they're cozier than jeans. They come in nice autumn hues - colors that you can have fun with.