Best 27 quotes in «leaf quotes» category

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!

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

And I wonder how the leaves clinched to the branches, yet to fall, the survivors feel when they see one of their own perish and realise that they too are to share a similar fate, does this thought cause them to give up selflessly, from confinement to independence or does it instil proportions of both courage and fear making them hold on as long as they can and accept what comes after?

Even a leaf in the wind settles sometimes.

In the fall of leaves, In the hustle of breeze, In the curve of streams, I foresee, Nature keeps more concealed, Than it lets us peep!

Feelings are real. They often become one’s reality. But they are not always based on truth.

Multi-colored lights flashed and glared on the wet road and cast eerie reflections, reminiscent of artistic surrealism. Fillion imagined that his distress and anger swirled and moved with the refracted lights, creating an urban masterpiece of demented fury.

I am just a leaf. Just a leaf falling from the tree so that a new bud may grow.

I've lived to see my longings die" I've lived to se my longings die: My dreams and I have grown apart; Now only sorrow haunts my eye, The wages of a bitter heart. Beneath the storms of hostile fate, My flowery wreath has faded fast; I live alone and sadly wait To see when death will come at last. Just so, when the winds in winter moan And snow descends in frigid flakes, Upon a naked branch, alone, The final leaf of summer shakes!

Love. It felt like a falling raindrop scatter on a trembling leaf then roll of its tip in a cascade of pearls

Perfection" Every oak will lose a leaf to the wind. Every star-thistle has a thorn. Every flower has a blemish. Every wave washes back upon itself. Every ocean embraces a storm. Every raindrop falls with precision. Every slithering snail leaves its silver trail. Every butterfly flies until its wings are torn. Every tree-frog is obligated to sing. Every sound has an echo in the canyon. Every pine drops its needles to the forest floor. Creation's whispered breath at dusk comes with a frost and leaves within dawn's faint mist, for all of existence remains perfect, adorned, with a dead sparrow on the ground. (Poem titled : 'Perfection' by R.H.Peat)

please, love, leave, like leaf from tree; taking beauty, leaving seed

Secrets upon secrets were weaving into a strange and mysterious fabric that would ultimately clothe his future.

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!

Rather than turning over a new leaf, prune your tree so that new leaves continue to blossom.

Secrets are foolish creatures, I have learned. No longer do I wish to play with fools.

The autumn leaf falls faster than the trees grow faster. (La feuille d'automne descend plus vite - Que les arbres ne grandissent plus vite.)

She looked at the city streets coated in rain, the early light illuminating their inky blackness, their darkness beautifully framed by the lighter concrete gutters and sidewalks. Broadway looks just like a big blackberry galette, Sam thought, before shaking her head at the terrible analogy. That would have earned a C minus in English lit, she thought, but my instructors at culinary school would be proud. Sam slowed for a second and considered the streets. So would my family, she added. New York had its own otherworldly beauty, stunning in its own sensory-overload sort of way, but a jarring juxtaposition to where Sam had grown up: on a family orchard in northern Michigan. Our skyscrapers were apple and peach trees, Sam thought, seeing dancing fruit in her mind once again. She smiled as she approached Union Square Park and stopped to touch an iridescent green leaf, still wet and dripping rain, her heart leaping at its incredible tenderness in the midst of the city. She leaned in and lifted the leaf to her nose, inhaling, the scents of summer and smells of her past- fresh fruit, fragrant pine, baking pies, lake water- flooding her mind.

Their leafy whispers delighted her, and she promised her confidentiality by gently touching the trunks of both trees. They had held her secrets close to their hearts, she could do no less.

The journey may be fraught with challenges, yet it continues, for even the smallest leaf must embrace destiny...Persistence is the key...

The scenic route was a paved graveyard of dreams, but Fillion hoped his would rise from the ashes, marking the moment when he would finally own his life.

Why do you take off your clothes in the winter and then cover up in the summer? Baring it all, Grandstanding, Not even one leaf, You naked tree

When the time has come, every leaf turns to face the sun!

Why?" He stopped pacing and looked at her as if she'd just asked him to count every leaf on every tree in the Old Place. "Because... you're you.

This was all in the making, a long time ago. You had as much control over these events as a leaf does in the time of its falling.

When leaves fall to the ground trees do not weep for they are returning to their mother: Earth.

Your initiatives should be purposeful. Never climb a tree with the purpose of plucking a fruit, only to come down with a leaf.