Best 298 quotes in «trees quotes» category

Did you hear about the lawsuit? Mary asked. "No, what?" "I hear that he is so big," she lifted her eyebrows to indicate what she meant, "that he put a girl in the hospital and she is suing him, because she can never have babies because of him." "Ewwwwwwwwwww!!!!" the sisters chorused. "Could a guy really do that?" Lydia asked. Elizabeth shrugged. "I guess, but he would have to be the size of a friggin' oak tree.

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.

Don't show your inferiority by climbing a stunted tree, show your superiority by climbing the longest and crooked one.

Don't you see? You created this forest! It is your imagination that has given these trees the water to grow. It is your hopes that blazed a path through it. It is your dreams that give it the magic. All of this was created from within you!

Do the roots reveal everything to the branches, or do they keep what is painful to themselves?

Earth stays in joy When we plant a tree Beneath the ground, oh, boy! Roots feel free

Education will teach you ephemeral things. God will teach you wonders.

Et ainsi, avec le soleil et les feuillages éclatants dont les arbres se couvraient à vue d’œil, comme dans un film projeté en accéléré, je retrouvai cette conviction familière que la vie recommençait toujours en même temps que l’été.

Elms are dying all over the place, it's Dutch elm disease. [...] It came from America on a load of logs, and it's a fungal disease. That makes it sound even more as if it might be possible to do something. The elms are all one elm, they are clones, that's why they are all succumbing. No natural resistance among the population, because no variation. Twins are clones, too. If you looked at an elm tree you'd never think it was part of all the others. You'd see an elm tree. Same when people look at me now: they see a person, not half a set of twins.

Every tree is known by its fruits.

Even nature; the restless waves, irregular trees and stars all out of line show that chaos can be beautiful!

Every mind should reflect to touch the green of life through trees.

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!

Everywhere I go, your beauty spills into my day. The trees were never this verdant. The birdsong never this sweet.

For all these stars, nothing is new. They’ve seen all kinds of wars and miracles, too. They know the messengers with their holy books will smile and wash their hands in blood. They know the politicians with their good looks will make the poor eat pies of mud. They’ve seen the Earth freeze and then burn with greed. They’ve seen the trees and the seas emptied. Yet, you won’t hear their sneers when a man arrives and, having experienced a number of years, proclaims: 'I have lived!' Because nothing is new under these stars: the lies, the love, the memories and scars, the ruin, the revolution, the fakes and true, the families, the friends, none of it is new. All of it—even the me and you.

Fifteen years ago I had an odd dream. In it, a medicinal plant that I was interested in, an Usnea lichen that is ubiquitous on trees throughout the world, told me that while it was good for healing human lungs it was primarily a medicine for the lungs of the planet, the trees. When I awoke, I was amazed. It had never occurred to me in quite that way that plants have some life and purpose outside their use to human beings.

First, the wind would rumble in the distance like an approaching river, then he would see grass bend, pressed by a great invisible hand. The dull rumble would rise in pitch to a swishing, lashing exultation, causing stalks to lie flat against the ground while the tougher branches of shrubs held themselves up and shrieked their defiance in the gusts. Then the first drops, cold and heavy, would plummet from the sky and burst on the ground.

For me, you are fresh water that falls from trees when it has stopped raining. For me, you are cinnamon that lingers on the tongue and gives bitter words sweetening. For me, you are the scent of violins and vision of valleys smiling. And still, for me, your loveliness never ends. It traverses the world and finds its way back to me. Only me.

FORKED BRANCHES We grew up on the same street, You and me. We went to the same schools, Rode the same bus, Had the same friends, And even shared spaghetti With each other's families. And though our roots belong to The same tree, Our branches have grown In different directions. Our tree, Now resembles a thousand Other trees In a sea of a trillion Other trees With parallel destinies And similar dreams. You cannot envy the branch That grows bigger From the same seed, And you cannot Blame it on the sun's direction. But you still compare us, As if we're still those two Kids at the park Slurping down slushies and Eating ice cream. Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun (2010)

God has created the trees as the sources of food and shelter for others. He has so sensibly not given the trees any weapons like horns, pointed teeth or intelligence to protect themselves. Say, if we went to pluck a mango and if the tree attacked us, then it would be difficult for us to survive! God has not given horns to a lion because it already has a weapon to protect himself- razor-sharp teeth. God has not given the humans horns or sharp teeth but more valuable gift- intelligence!

God gives urge, urge gives pleasure, pleasure gives pains, pains gives fruits, fruits gives trees, trees die and go to hell!

For the sun, stars, oceans, and all the trees, I’ll consider it.

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.

Gold is more precious than wood, it is true. But you cannot and will not cook with or write on gold, you cook with 'wood' and write on wood. Just because one seems to have superior value does not render others useless. A forest full of trees is as important as a gold mine.

God's gift to the world are the Trees, Sun, and Mountains

Gold is a luxury. Trees are necessities. Man can live and thrive without gold, but we cannot survive without trees.

Golden brown syrup light pranced upon his melancholy face. The flickering was somewhat surreal.

Happiness lives in every corner of your home and if you are homeless, it lives under the leaves of trees, hiding beneath the sky's cloudiness. All you need to do is to find it with patience.

Great songs don't grow on trees, yet lots of songs have been written on great trees

Haunted trees covered behind the curtains of their own leaves stare at the dark from the fringe of streets.

He could not tell all of the California pines apart, the gray pine from the coulter, the bushop from the knobcone and the Monterey.

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.

He knew it the same way the woodsman knew it, because he knew trees: but he also knew it with the knowledge of the Wild Man of Greenhallow, who felt every slow green beat of the forest's heart.

He liked the grand size of things in the woods, the feeling of being lost and far away, and the sense he had that with so many trees as wardens, no danger could find him.

Here I find the true nature of the tree - not in the bulk of its shape but in the way its form alters my vision of the world.

He painted until his cursive brushes were only whispers of rawness on the thin ivory. Only the walls and the ravens that watched knew the boy with the paint-stained palms weaved his art onto his sketchpad on the park bench at lunchtimes, and only the trees whispered it like a prayer.

Here, she curled up in a tight ball and waited, purred to her unborn babies. And the trees, the tall and kindly trees, watched over her while she slept, slept the whole night through.

He who sees a gold bullion more valuable than a tree has surely an intelligence much less than a donkey’s!

I belong with the trees, the wind, the earth beneath my feet. I belong in the land of enchanting things. But mostly, I belong entwined in your kiss, lost, yet wild and free, pure bliss, like poetry.

How mighty you are as death comes upon you and your color fades. Yet from life and lush to bold array, screaming into the night.

I cannot hope to make you understand how the world is truly made,' he told her. 'Metaphor, then: the world is a weave, like threads woven into cloth.' His hand came out of his sleeve with a strip of his red ribbon. 'If you say so.' 'Everything, stone, trees, beasts, the sky, the waters, all are a weave of fabric,' he said patiently. 'But when you think, it is different. Your thinking snarls the fabric, knots it. If you were a magician, you could use the knot of your mind to pull on other threads. That is magic, and now you see how every simple it is. I wonder everyone does not become an enchanter.

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 don’t exist metal pressed to pages spilling blood, ink in vein each thought rages Sunlight shooting through a forest of pines black top winding and yellow dotted lines I am not here only a deep aching, a lightning flash and a tree trunk breaking Sheets once alive covered in a deep red mark the present but I am not yet dead Nothing is here only the rain and mist fresh air and soil I do not need to exist.

I fall for centuries of life. First sunlight touches this hillside; and buried inside the earth, a seed stirs, turning slowly in the deep soil like a tadpole turning itself in a dank pool.

I'd like to make a twosome with two handsome trees. Make that a threesome as I'd also include a bush in the package, to keep it low profile.

I drank from the crisp mountain stream, tasting filtered sky with a mossy undertone. I’ve never understood how being loved fully could change your entire perspective of the world. I only ever understood the wistfulness of it, and the longing and the frothy, violent bits. The mixed up, rained on parts. The escaped bits that smudge and bleed through. Slowly, I am coming to terms with how vulnerable I am to you, flat on my back like a submissive wolf pup. Daisy petals line your eyelashes, juice of a nectarine flavors your tongue. The side of your mouth twitches, hazy dreamscapes overtaking your mind while we bathe in the glorious autumn devastation.

I feel a great regard for trees; they represent age and beauty and the miracles of life and growth.

If only we wait on God's timings, we shall eat of the best fruits from the tree of life in the garden of God.

If only the know-how could be equalled by the will-to-serve, by compassion for human suffering cause by hunger and deficiency diseases, there is no reason why fully balanced diets consisting largely of plant-foods should not be made available for hundreds of millions of undernourished people in the West as well as in the Third World.

If the forest has a day of fire and the heat of the flames does not consume a special tree, it will still be changed; charred, but still standing.