Best 64 quotes in «leaves quotes» category

25. Whenever two human beings spend time together, sooner or later they will probably irritate one another. This is true of best friends, married couples, parents and children, or teachers and students. The question is: How do they respond when friction occurs? There are four basic ways they can react: • They can internalize the anger and send it downward into a memory bank that never forgets. This creates great pressure within and can even result in disease and other problems. • They can pout and be rude without discussing the issues. This further irritates the other person and leaves him or her to draw his or her own conclusions about what the problem may be. • They can blow up and try to hurt the other person. This causes the death of friendships, marriages, homes, and businesses. • Or they can talk to one another about their feelings, being very careful not to attack the dignity and worth of the other person. This approach often leads to permanent and healthy relationships.

At the edge you will always remember me, at the edge you will last be remembered, where sanity and insanity come together, for the time, then separates. Like leaves on October trees, that color the world, but for a moment, then leave. At the edge, where life losses its edginess, and thoughts we will become one, someday. At the edge the sun drops, the ring falls, and senses of raindrops climb upwards to the gray sky.

And I will wait for you like the leaves for their rain...

And there by the door was a big piece of some kind of woven fabric, neatly framed and under glass, with a pattern of blue leaves and vines and speckled birds and little white flowers, and everything so close and tight that it played with my eyes and made me squint. And the funny thing was, I was almost sure I'd seen that pattern somewhere before... For a minute I looked at it, trying to work out the design. The leaves looked a bit like strawberry-leaves, and there were strawberries in there too, which made me think of my strawberry wood, grown dark and strange under the glass. But there were so many things in there, so many shapes and colors, that it was hard to focus. And the pattern kept repeating, so that it looked like the birds were moving; chasing each other through the leaves, and flowers, and briars, and bunches of strawberries.

Autumn is here and I am in love. My heart has taken residence in my mind. I pick the crisp ochre leaves and put them in my pocket. I am in love.

Autumn came early and lingered with its shroud of rainstorms and its wreath of dead leaves.

Come, little leaves," said the Wind one day, "Come to the meadows with me and play. Put on your dresses of red and gold; For Summer is past, and the days grow cold.

Autumn casts a spell and dying never was so beautiful.

Autumn colors remind us we are all one dancing in the wind.

Autumn flings her fiery cloak over the sumac, beech and oak.

Don't be in temper, to leave so quickly, that I may be dying. But all too soon, the leaves and debris will gather elsewhere.

Do you know why the leaves change colour, Makin?" They did look spectacular. The forest had grown around us as we traveled and the canopy burned with colour, from deepest red to flame orange, an autumn fire spreading in defiance of the rain. "I don't know," he said, "Why do they change?" "Before a tree sheds a leaf it pumps it full of all the poison it can't rid itself of otherwise. That red there—that's a man's skin blotching with burst veins after an assassin spikes his last meal with roto-weed. The poison spreading through him before he dies.

Autumn is a season of desperate hopes. The leaves are souls begging to turn life on pause. Begging to stop, begging to take a break, hiding under smiles and childish words.

Do not underestimate the muteness of a tree. The rustling leaves of it can sing with the rival wind that many of us cannot do.

Emerald leaves crossed our paths with veracity marked in golden drafts, somewhere deep amid the pending vapours of humility and dance, did we dance across the skies?

Fallen leaves on the ground are the golden song of immortal creativity.

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!

Found in trees. Sometimes also in old silent movie theaters, seaside zoos, magic shops, hat shops, time-travel shops, topiary gardents, cowboy boots, castle turrets, comet museums, dog pounds, mermaid ponds, dragon lairs, library stacks (the ones in the back), piles of leaves, piles of pancakes, the belly of a fiddle, the bell of a flower, or in the company of wild herds of typewriters. But mostly in trees.

He'd grown unused to woods like this. He'd become accustomed to the Northwest, evergreen and shaded dark. Here he was surrounded by soft leaves, not needles; leaves that carried their deaths secretly inside them, that already heard the whispers of Autumn. Roots and branches that knew things.

His voice a rhythm like rain, words rolling over themselves... “You are distinguished from the leaves by the shape of your eyes. They are whiter in color and rounder. Except on nights like this when the leaves are luminous....” “Still, you are distinguished from the night– your voice silent as candles melted in their own pools, used up with expression and light....

I am Falling in love again with autumn, The smell of warm cider, The orange color leaves, Pumpkins everywhere and the crisp breeze, People walking or riding their bikes, Folks jogging or going on hikes, I love autumn for so many reasons, I must admit- This is my favorite season

I am happy the leaves are growing large so quickly. Soon they will hide the neighbor and her screaming child.

i learnt from the autumn leaves, the formula of healing. every year, they break, fall off the trees and die. and then again in a few months, they find their way back home. reborn, living a new life just to die again. but never did that stop them growing again. so why can't we humans just live up to them. fall, get hurt, bear pain but have enough courage and energy to stand up and fight back again.

...I'm just beginning to understand how kind you are.

In the summer heat the reapers say, “We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair.

In the Winter of my life I fell in love with Autumn and you. The leaves will change and fall but your love I feel is here to stay, at least for just another day.

I thought about how the past can become so small. An entire day, 24 separate, heavy hours, becomes the size of a tiny brown leaf falling from a tree. Before you know it, a whole year is just a pile of dead leaves on the ground. The year or so I’d spent in love with Chad was starting to feel so long ago, swept away by the wind. I knew that this year would soon feel far away too.

It’s not that we have to quit this life one day, but it’s how many things we have to quit all at once: music, laughter, the physics of falling leaves, automobiles, holding hands, the scent of rain, the concept of subway trains... if only one could leave this life slowly!

Looking up into the trees, I noticed that one still had a few dark leaves clinging to the upper branches. Under my gaze, the leaves became a semé of birds, scattering upward and away in a salutary swoop, leaving only a plastic bag, caught and hanging listlessly in the bare limbs.

Never climb the tree with the reason of plucking a fruit; only to get there and pick a leaf. Let everything you get there to do be done and let it be done well!

No matter what I feel, I hold the assurance that God never leaves me.

She awaits the rain like a writer embraces metaphors, A drizzle isn't for the child who dances in the storm. Of rain that washes away the petrichor it brings, A downpour of a hail of bullets, and she calls it spring.

Soon it will be autumn and we haven't the power to keep a single leaf from falling.

Suddenly, the wind got hold of the hammock. Leaves murmured. It was cold and the sun had gone down.

The birds will wing from the weather, While I stand, still as the harvest, With the sound of the fall in the air.

The Fall, a time when the illusion of the Maya fades away, a freedom from the identification with the illusory persona. For as the trees let go of their leaves to embrace the new season each year, there is no need to fight the shadows that form the illusion or the masks that form our egoic personas, but rather enjoy the illusion for what it is and find the freedom to accept and play a role outside of identification.

The last dead leaves of fall crackled underfoot, winter-crisp.

There's never been a better time to let the leaves of mediocrity fall from your tree of life.

This is a green world, with animals comparatively few and small, and dependent on the leaves. By leaves we live.

Watch, how the sun slowly rises from behind my ear new lines, new countries spring up in my palms my rough hair become swaying silk and all the leaves in my body become lusher than fruits.

When fall comes to town, lovers, letters, and leaves reunite on the sidewalks, broken, burnt, and brown.

Wind warns November’s done with. The blown leaves make bat-shapes, Web-winged and furious.

Even now I remember those pictures, like pictures in a storybook one loved as a child. Radiant meadows, mountains vaporous in the trembling distance; leaves ankle-deep on a gusty autumn road; bonfires and fog in the valleys; cellos, dark window-panes, snow.

He saw the kind of beauty yellow flowers have growing over a carpet of dead leaves. The beauty of cracks forming a mosaic in a dry riverbed, of emerald-green algae at the base of a seawall, of a broken shard from a blue bottle. The beauty of a window smudged with tiny prints. The beauty of wild weeds.

I enjoy many types of music, but to my ears, there’s none more soothing or calming than the music a tree makes as wind passes through its leaves.

I heard the breeze whisper your name to the trees. And the flowers giggled smiling at the leaves. I and my loneliness keep talking about you.

It's like raking leaves in the wind.

May you Fall in love with October and all the beauty it brings, May your life be as colorful as the turning of the leaves, On each blessed autumn day

Nature has no beauty forbidden Manmade concrete slab: guilt-ridden Wings or leaves whatever we may care Those limbs with the birds only trees will share

One day I watched a man sweep all the yellow leaves off the street in front of his house, and then he proceeded to do the same thing in front of his neighbor's houses on both sides. If I was the neighbor I'd be mad. Leave my leaves alone, I'd think. As soon as the man went back in there was a gust of wind and a couple leaves trickled into his clear pristine black tar, and I laughed out loud, as if I'm not always trying to stave off death and the death of my loved ones.