Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
In California in the early Spring, There are pale yellow mornings, when the mist burns slowly into day, The air stings like Autumn, clarifies like pain - Well, I have dreamed this coast myself.
I love Toronto's long autumns, warm with windy swirls of golden spores, redolent with giant, sun-roasted leaves flapping up and down the streets, and horrible winter always seeming far, far off!
Autumn is a reminder that while the leaves die and fall, there will always be Spring, a chance to replenish and be reborn again. We all have the opportunity to replenish ourselves, to be reborn.
This sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun The day, though bough with bough be overrun. But with a blessing every glade receives High salutation.
It was one of those days you sometimes get latish in the autumn when the sun beams, the birds toot, and there is a bracing tang in the air that sends the blood beetling briskly through the veins.
When on the breath of Autumn's breeze, From pastures dry and brown, Goes floating, like an idle thought, The fair, white thistle-down; O, then what joy to walk at will, Upon the golden harvest-hill!
Love is a flower that grows in any soil, works its sweet miracles undaunted by autumn frost or winter snow, blooming fair and fragrant all the year, and blessing those who give and those who receive.
Yet, in these autumn days when Nature expires, Here, in these veiled scenes, I find more attractions; It is a friend's sad goodbye; it is the last smile From lips that death is going to close forever!
I put quite a few trees in last autumn. A lot of silver birch and a couple of native trees - just generally doing gardening, putting plants in and hedges in. It takes quite a lot of time and I love it.
I always feel at home where the sugar maple grows.... glorious in autumn, a fountain of coolness in summer, sugar in its veins, gold in its foliage, warmth in its fibers, and health in it the year round.
The foliage has been losing its freshness through the month of August, and here and there a yellow leaf shows itself like the first gray hair amidst the locks of a beauty who has seen one season too many.
That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts.
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
The world is tired, the year is old, The faded leaves are glad to die.
Autumn is really the best of the seasons; and I'm not sure that old age isn't the best part of life.
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.
What was it Catelyn Stark had called them, that night at Bitterbridge? The knights of summer. And now it was autumn and they were falling like leaves.
Books are carefully folded forests/void of autumn/bound from the sun
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.
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
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.
On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
Just imagine, a cow on the balcony of the nation, what an awful thing, what a shitty country.
In autumn, don't go to jewellers to see gold; go to the parks!
There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!
Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.
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.
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).
It looked like the world was covered in a cobbler crust of brown sugar and cinnamon.
Fake friends are like autumn leaves, they're scattered everywhere.
On the motionless branches of some trees, autumn berries hung like clusters of coral beads, as in those fabled orchards where the fruits were jewels . . .
The acrid scents of autumn, Reminiscent of slinking beasts, make me fear
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.
By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.
The tints of autumn...a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.
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.
As long as autumn lasts, I shall not have hands, canvas and colors enough to paint the beautiful things I see.
THE autumn of 1850 brought an event freighted with deep significance to me. My mother died.
The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.
I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
In a world of universal poverty The philosophers alone will be fat Against the autumn winds In an autumn that will be perpetual.
I am struck by the simplicity of light in the atmosphere in the autumn, as if the earth absorbed none, and out of this profusion of dazzling light came the autumnal tints.
The garden of love is green without limit and yields many fruits other than sorrow or joy. Love is beyond either condition: without spring, without autumn, it is always fresh.
Time remorselessly rambles down the corridors and streets of our lives. but it is not until autumn that most of us become aware that our tickets are stamped with a terminal destination.
Men have been swindled by other men on many occasions. The autumn of 1929 was, perhaps, the first occasion when men succeeded on a large scale in swindling themselves.
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.
It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves.
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.