Quotes about leaves

Every animal leaves traces of what it was man alone leaves traces of what he created.

One change always leaves the way open for the establishment of others.

The customs and fashions of men change like leaves on the bough, some of which go and others come.

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

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....

Live in moments that consume your heart and mind, but be distracted by the music from the leaves, birds, wind, rain, sun and people

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.

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

Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go?

It's like raking leaves in the wind.

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.

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

It is glorious fun racing down the Hump, but you can't do it on windy days because then you are not there, but the fallen leaves do it instead of you. There is almost nothing that has such a keen sense of fun as a fallen leaf.

Every job leaves its residue, a bit of extra knowledge, a new skill-set.

He who leaves nothing to chance will do few things poorly, but he will do few things.

Shall I not have intelligence with the earth? Am I not partly leaves and vegetable mould myself.

Wisdom prepares for the worst, but folly leaves the worst for the day when it comes.

Travelers repose and dream among my leaves.

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.

Let all the green leaves be mineas long as the trees define shades created by their limbsfor the soil made with victimsof atrocity's vileness to redeem the fragileness

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.

She day-dreams just as I do. She is addicted to her solitude just as I am. She loves watching the rain-drops fall slowly on to the green leaves of an old guava tree just as I do. She loves drifting in time and time travel just as I do. She loves looking at the waves dashing against the rocks just as I do.

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!

The leaves that remain are only a very small part of the tea. The tea that goes into me is a much bigger part of the tea. It is the richest part.We are the same; our essence has gone into our children, our friends, and the entire universe. We have to find ourselves in those directions and not in the spent tea leaves.

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.

The air had a cool crispness to it and the leaves on the trees had begun turning yellow and red.

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

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

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.

A gust of wind rattles the window, and I look out. Leaves are whooshing all over the place, flying past horizontally as if they have engines of their own.

I guess I'm just feeling Septemberish," sighed Chester. "It's getting towards autumn now. And it's so pretty up in Connecticut. All the trees change color. The days get very clear―with a little smoke on the horizon from burning leaves. Pumpkins begin to come out.

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;Lengthen night and shorten day;Every leaf speaks bliss to meFluttering from the autumn tree.I shall smile when wreaths of snowBlossom where the rose should grow;I shall sing when night’s decayUshers in a drearier day.

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

Thank you leaf blowers, for making me look like the world's lamest Ghostbuster. I ain't afraid of no leaves.

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.

Put a love note in his shaving kit before he leaves on a business trip.

The failure to dissect the cause of war leaves us open for the next installment.

Leaves leave this world in beautiful fall colors and songs.

The Sussex lanes were very lovely in the autumn . . . spendthrift gold and glory of the year-end . . . earth scents and the sky winds and all the magic of the countryside which is ordained for the healing of the soul.

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

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!

With its leaves so rich and heavy with elation and its crimson face made brighter with visions of divinity the shadow of a certain rose looks just like an angel eating light.

Trees lose their leaves in blizzards like these.

For the time beingWords scatterAre they fallen leaves?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

The true order is what the wind creates by scattering the leaves.

Nature has no beauty forbiddenManmade concrete slab: guilt-riddenWings or leaves whatever we may careThose limbs with the birds only trees will share

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

Watch, how the sunslowly risesfrom behind my earnew lines, new countriesspring up in my palmsmy rough hairbecome swaying silkand all the leavesin my bodybecome lusher than fruits.

Watch the beauty of your life tree old leaves falling and allowing new ones to sprout !

Ha! spring arrived on her sweet scented palanquin,carried by the spirited Zephyrus and his coir with their murmuring music undulated in its own softness and fondled the leaves to astir.

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.

While outside the window, the raindrops pitter pattered on leaves that shivered and sparkled, inside we made love for the first time!

You are most beautiful in your purest form. You are a manifestation of God himself. Open your eyes and let the light flow right through to your core. All it takes is for you to notice a flicker of leaves, a momentary glance from a loved one, or for a wave to hit your toes and freeze you in that timeless place where you know with every cell in your body that God, indeed is real.

Wind is the sacred music of the leaves; wherever and whenever the wind blows, over there leaves start their holy dancing frantically!

Autumn is hereand 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.

Sadness clings to you like a cat unwilling to release its claws, so you embrace it and stroke it until it is content to sleep in your heart, until awakened by a sound, a smell, or a memory...but it never leaves you.