Leaves Quotes

“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!”
― Roman Payne, Rooftop Soliloquy

“To hear never-heard sounds,
To see never-seen colors and shapes,
To try to understand the imperceptible
Power pervading the world;
To fly and find pure ethereal substances
That are not of matter
But of that invisible soul pervading reality.
To hear another soul and to whisper to another soul;
To be a lantern in the darkness
Or an umbrella in a stormy day;
To feel much more than know.
To be the eyes of an eagle, slope of a mountain;
To be a wave understanding the influence of the moon;
To be a tree and read the memory of the leaves;
To be an insignificant pedestrian on the streets
Of crazy cities watching, watching, and watching.
To be a smile on the face of a woman
And shine in her memory
As a moment saved without planning.”
― Dejan Stojanovic

“In every change, in every falling leaf there is some pain, some beauty. And that's the way new leaves grow.”
― Amit Ray

“I was drinking in the surroundings: air so crisp you could snap it with your fingers and greens in every lush shade imaginable offset by autumnal flashes of red and yellow.”
― Wendy Delsol, Stork

“Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go?”
― John Banister Tabb

“Tears were dripping onto my dress, but I wasn't making any sound. There was no sound to express thid kind of pain.
I didn't want to move, didn't want to do anything. Fang was not waiting for me out in the living room. Tomorrow morning, when I woke up, Fang would still be gone.”
― James Patterson, Fang

“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.”
― George Cooper

“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.”
― Michael Montoure, Slices

“FALLING IN LOVE WITH OCTOBER

Leaves descending to the ground,
Orange, magenta, green & brown
The cool crisp breezes in the air,
Autumn season must be here”
― Charmaine J Forde

“I made myself a glass of chocolate milk using enough syrup for three normal glasses. I also made myself four peanut butter crackers. Then I walked out the living room door to our terrace. The trees were coming! New green was all over ... green so new that it was kissing yellow.”
― E.L. Konigsburg, Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth

“No matter what I feel, I hold the assurance that God never leaves me.”
― Craig Groeschel, The Christian Atheist: Believing in God but Living As If He Doesn't Exist

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

“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.”
― Munia Khan

“As November’s crisp, rustling leaves surrender to cool autumn breezes and whirl away in all directions, we are reminded that ‘for everything there is a season.”
― Peggy Toney Horton, Unseen Angels

“falling into the mist
through colorful trees
on wings of love

becoming a part
of colors ablaze
in autumn's leaves

holding each color
with floating kisses
on sighs of feathers”
― Bodhi Smith, Bodhi Smith Impressionist Photography

“Bird of Paradise, feather among leaves,
To the earthy soil I am bound and tied.
Anchored by claws of roots and weighty sheaves,
My spirit flies among the birds that glide.
My sprawled pinions verdant, tail feathers pied,
A crest of orange crowned is my disguise.
As winds breathe hope and new life, then subside,
Seeds are sown and grown right before my eyes.
My vision is centered, strong are my arms,
I feed the hungry and withstand their sting,
I greet the sunrise, and bathe in rainstorms.
Wildflowers fret and speak of blight all spring,
But Paradise shuns foreboding such plight.
Proud is my nature, I stand strongly bright.”
― Marie Helen Abramyan

“It was one of those early November mornings that are as beautiful as any in spring. There was gold everywhere, drifts of it on the elm tree, flakes of gold under our feet, gold dust on the hedges, liquid gold in the refracted falling light.”
― Elizabeth Goudge, The Dean's Watch

“She was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. She was fair skinned and golden haired, full-blood Italian. The air was suddenly filled with banana leaves. We started talking and my head started to spin. Cupid’s arrow had whistled past my ears before, but this time it hit me in the heart and the weight of it dragged me overboard.”
― Bob Dylan, Chronicles, Volume One

“And he said...

...do not expect a leaf in a book to breathe as a leaf would as if it was on a tree.”
― Anthony T. Hincks

“The journey of a leaf doesn’t end in its escape. Leaves dance on the wind, swirling and spinning, greeting the ground tenderly. They entertain us by crunching beneath our feet. In time, they’ll break down and make the soil more fertile. Similarly, things we release find new value. They nourish what will be grown in the future.”
― Ahriana Platten, Ph.D

“None of that however, is the ever transforming tangible form to which I’d referred.

It was rather a yet-cited, five-inch thick, loosely bundled heap of paper which not fully three hours past our beginning, the former 15-year-old would then briefly waggle in his left hand as he stood near center of the very escape route alluded to in the same chapter.

Within its pages were row-upon-row of dark impressions; marked one-by-one by an array of blows arising from a basket of clustered steel typebars cast with embossed slugs upon their tips ‒ striking in sequential forward arcs, as if inhabited by a crew of nether-situated Lilliputians sitting side-by-side; wielding slender embossed hammers, forged character-by-character to smash against pigment-impregnated woven black ribbons; poised in turn overtop a seemingly endless succession of lily-white storyteller's leaves; each a direct byproduct of majestically beautiful, seasonally fragrant, faintly audible, partly edible, often climbable, utterly tangible trees ‒ its outer layer of fifteen pages having chronicled the antecedent evoked by this very beginning more than 400 billion harvested timber ago.

So then to be more succinct, Nate’s story began again with yet another scurrying rat…”
― Monte Souder (Rat Luck)

“And he said...

...put a stick up your nose and it will never grow leaves.”
― Anthony T. Hincks

“None of that however, is the form to which I’d referred. [ever transforming tangible form]

It was rather a yet-cited, five-inch thick, loosely bundled heap of paper which not fully three hours past our beginning, the former 15-year-old would then briefly waggle in his left hand as he stood near center of the very escape route alluded to in the same chapter.

Within its pages were row-upon-row of dark impressions; marked one-by-one by an array of blows arising from a basket of clustered steel typebars cast with embossed slugs upon their tips ‒ striking in sequential forward arcs, as if inhabited by a crew of nether-situated Lilliputians sitting side-by-side; wielding slender embossed hammers, forged character-by-character to smash against pigment-impregnated woven black ribbons; poised in turn overtop a seemingly endless succession of lily-white storyteller's leaves; each a direct byproduct of majestically beautiful, seasonally fragrant, faintly audible, partly edible, often climbable; utterly tangible trees ‒ its outer layer of fifteen pages having chronicled the antecedent evoked by this very beginning more than 400 billion harvested timber ago.

So then to be more succinct, Nate’s story began again with yet another scurrying rat…”
― Monte Souder (Rat Luck)

“None of that however, is the form to which I’d referred.

It was rather a yet-cited, five-inch thick, loosely bundled heap of paper which not fully three hours past our beginning, the former 15-year-old would then briefly waggle in his left hand as he stood near center of the very escape route alluded to in the same chapter.

Within its pages were row-upon-row of dark impressions; marked one-by-one by an array of blows arising from a basket of clustered steel typebars cast with embossed slugs upon their tips ‒ striking in sequential forward arcs, as if inhabited by a crew of nether-situated Lilliputians sitting side-by-side; wielding slender embossed hammers, forged character-by-character to smash against pigment-impregnated woven black ribbons; poised in turn overtop a seemingly endless succession of lily-white storyteller's leaves; each a direct byproduct of majestically beautiful, seasonally fragrant, faintly audible, partly edible, often climbable; utterly tangible trees ‒ its outer layer of fifteen pages having chronicled the antecedent evoked by this very beginning more than 400 billion harvested timber ago.

So then to be more succinct, Nate’s story began again with yet another scurrying rat…”
― Monte Souder (Rat Luck)

“I was akin to Francis Bacon’s ‘Merchant of Light’ collecting experiences in the few days I spent with wonderful people and my dearest. Imbibing everything the mystically beautiful place revealed. I did it every year instead of every twelve years, as professed by Bacon. I brought with me the optimism, energy, compassion, humility, love and aroma of the wood and leaves. Best experiences of my life.”
― Udayakumar D.S., FT Legacy 1: Who is Frank Twine?

“It's so much easier to be the one who leaves first.”
― Carissa Broadbent, Six Scorched Roses

“Nature has taken a deep autumnal breath, and with gusting sighs of relief has shed away the year’s heft that’s now in the rear view. Tumbling away with strewn leaves are the remnants of days gone by. Storms have been weathered, dry spells overcome, and harsh winds survived, nature is now moving forward stronger. With newly sown seeds hope is laying dormant ready to forge ahead in the ethereal sunlight, come spring. Not loosing a beat, but rising back up rejoining the rhythm and restarting the journey. A beautiful lesson in resilience at play.”
― Marie Helen Abramyan

“Although she was no longer weeping and appeared remarkably composed, I knew that behind that facade, someone was breaking inside. Piece by piece, she was falling apart, silently, like leaves dropping from trees in autumn.”
― Shahid Hussain Raja

“Under the brush of the autumn wind, the leaves dance, painted in hues of orange and gold, a visual symphony that sings in every corner of the forest.”
― David Passarelli, Mountain poems: Musings on stone, forest, and snow

“Here, every creature finds a sanctuary and peace, in a green embrace of leaves and rustles”
― David Passarelli, Mountain poems: Musings on stone, forest, and snow