Best 177 quotes in «grass quotes» category

the camels had strayed far in search of scarce grass. When collected, they displayed a fiendish ingenuity in throwing their loads and tangling themselves up in every possible strap.

The dirt was OK, but once you hit the grass... Wet grass is slippery

The dry grasses are not dead for me. A beautiful form has as much life at one season as another.

The grass is always greener on the other side, unless Vince Russo has been there in which case the grass is most likely dead.

The fountain is my speech. The tulips are my speech. The grass and trees are my speech.

The grass is always greener around the fire hydrant.

The grass is always greener once you don't have to mow a lawn anymore.

The grass is always greener when it's covered in money.

The grass is always greener over the septic tank.

The grass isn't always greener on the other side. I start off kind of in love and then I leave love and I'm single.

The person who knows a great deal about things but has never learnt to see, tends to be assertive; those who have once lost their hearts to a blade of grass or a glowworm and sensed God's omnipresence within them are at least on the road to reverence.

The nightingale appear'd the first, And as her melody she sang, The apple into blossom burst, To life the grass and violets sprang.

The older, thinner, and less productive grass lands, however, frequently can be made to produce much larger yields of feed in corn than if left, as they are, in unproductive grass.

There is melancholy in the wind and sorrow in the grass

The power that makes grass grow, fruit ripen, and guides the bird in flight is in us all.

There hath grown no grass on my heels since I went hence.

The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.

There's a snake hidden in the grass.

There, where I have passed, the grass will never grow gain.

There's a snake lurking in the grass.

Though no one had been buried here for almost thirty years, the grass was mown by yours truly. I felt a tidy graveyard made a happy graveyard.

The warm green of the grass, sprinkled with flowers of many hues, is a carpet whereon we walk with noiseless tread.

The worst place to be is in the middle. When elephants fight, the grass gets trampled.

This soft grass suggests 'softness' to me, but also at the same time 'lying-down-ness'.

Under the pavement the dirt is dreaming of grass.

Trees have judicial standing, and probably grass too.

To kill the grass you must also remove the root

We pick up the lost bits and pieces, from the grass where we left them, and bring them with us into a future that will be made up of so much more as well.

Wait a minute! This is grass! We've been eating grass!

We had always dwelled together, beneath a tropical sun, in the Valley of the Many Colored Grass.

Well, what do you owe yourself? Do you dare take time out to listen to the grass grow, or can you even afford the expense of getting far enough away from life's daily cacophony to hear it grow if you took the time?

Wherever the Turkish hoof trods, no grass grows.

We should not let grass grow on the path of friendship.

When I think of grass I think of something to walk on, pot as something to put a plant in.

We're not raising grass. We're raising boys.

We say of the oak, How grand of girth! Of the willow we say, How slender! And yet to the soft grass clothing the earth How slight is the praise we render.

We will burn the old grass and the new will grow.

What a benediction is this fragrance of the early morning! The vernal grass fills the whole atmosphere as with a shower of sweetness.

When I was in charge of the Christian Coalition I was available to mobilize grass roots support for somebody.

While drawing grasses I learn nothing 'about' grass, but wake up to the wonder that there is grass at all.

White on rice. Green on grass. Sheets on a bed. Him on her.

Women like poetry. A soft word in their ears and they melt - a grease spot on the grass.

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose? Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps, And here you are the mothers' laps. This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. ... What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

You know how they say the grass is always greener on the other side? It is greener, because you're not there. And if you go you'll trample it and leave dirty footprints and probably spill something poisonous.

Do you have a personal mantra? Mine comes from a childhood song. "Wherever I go the grass grows greener.

An employee is sheep. His employer is the shepherd. His salary is grass.

As the branches of the trees swayed. I stopped at the grass and laid. A different symphony played out in the woods.

As we stood watching the ominous cloud, a strong wind, gusting to thirty miles per hour, struck us full in the face, tugging at our clothes and bringing tears to our eyes. Only miles of dry grass stood between us and the fire.

Every tree in the forest has a story to tell. Some of them were burnt but they endured the fire and got revived; some of them were cut, their barks injured, some people pick up their leaves to make medicines for their sicknesses, birds used their leaves to make their nests, etc. Upon all these, the tree is still tree!

Happiness is an undercurrent of sensitivity and leads a surreptitious life: it is an internal eventuality. We can feel it in stillness and it stands the test of time. Joy is an eruption of cheerful moments and we want to express it: it is an external eventuality. We might shout it out, as it conveys a dynamic of fleeting instants. Joy gives voice to “en-joy-ment”. ("The grass was greener over there")