We cling to our own point of view, as though everything depended on it. Yet our opinions have no permanence; like autumn and winter, they gradually pass away.— Zhuangzi
Killer Autumn And Winter quotations
We cling to our own point of view, as though everything depended on it.
Yet our opinions have no permanence; like autumn and winter, they gradually pass away.
The winter will be short, the summer long, The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, Tasting of cider and of scuppernong; All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all. The squirrels in their silver fur will fall Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot.
The falling leaves drift by the window The autumn leaves of red and gold.
... I see your lips, the summer kisses The sunburned hands, I used to hold Since you went away, the days grow long And soon I'll hear ol' winter's song. But I miss you most of all my darling, When autumn leaves start to fall.
In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October, when the trees are bare to the mild heavens, and the red leaves bestrew the road, and you can feel the breath of winter, morning and evening - no days so calm, so tenderly solemn, and with such a reverent meekness in the air.
If winter is slumber and spring is birth, and summer is life, then autumn rounds out to be reflection. It's a time of year when the leaves are down and the harvest is in and the perennials are gone. Mother Earth just closed up the drapes on another year and it's time to reflect on what's come before.
There is no season such delight can bring, as summer, autumn, winter and the spring.
Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.
In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October.
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape.
Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.
The trees are Indian Princes, But soon they'll turn to Ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough; Its Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 'Twill soon be Winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! And what will this poor Robin do? For pinching days are near.
The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter woods.
Love is a flower that grows in any soil, works its sweet miracles undaunted by autumn frost or winter snow, blooming fair and fragrant all the year, and blessing those who give and those who receive.
Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through the mountains, a torch flung to the trees.
There are rainy days in autumn and stormy days in winter when the rocking chair in front of the fire simply demands an accompanying book.
With the ripening of the fruits in Autumn the leaves begin to wither and the trees, taking up their sap from the earth through the roots, recover themselves and are restored to their former solid texture. But the strong air of winter compresses and solidifies them.
There are a thousand flowers blossoming in spring, The magical light of the full moon in autumn; There is a breeze in summer, And snow in winter; And if vanities don't hang in my mind, I shall rejoice at any time and place.
Spring is the fresh green of young corn and the pink blush of blossoms.
Autumn contrasts the yellowed foilage with violet hues. Winter is the white of snow against its black forms ... Summer is the contrast of blues and the golden bronze of the corn.
A good dog never dies. He always stays. He walks besides you on crisp autumn days when frost is on the fields and winter's drawing near. His head is within our hand in his old way.
Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.
O, Winter! Put away thy snowy pride; O, Spring! Neglect the cowslip and the bell; O, Summer! Throw thy pears and plums aside; O, Autumn! Bid the grape with poison swell.
Autumn arrives in the early morning.
... the spring, the summer, The chilling autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world By their increase, now knows not which is which.
Summer makes me drowsy. Autumn makes me sing. Winter's pretty lousy, but I hate Spring.
Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.
Two monks sit facing, playing chess on the mountain, The bamboo shadow on the board is dark and clear. Not a person sees the bamboo's shadow, One sometimes hears the pieces being moved.
Autumn is a season followed immediately by looking forward to spring.
But I do feel a little teeny right now that I'm just about ready to start, and winter is entering. Half past autumn has arrived.
I cannot love evergreens - they are the misanthropes of nature.
To them the spring brings no promise, the autumn no decline; they are cut off from the sweetest of all ties with their kind - sympathy. ... I will have no evergreens in my garden; when the inevitable winter comes, every beloved plant and favorite tree shall drop together - no solitary fir left to triumph over the companionship of decay.
I watch the springs, the summers, the autumns;
And when comes the winter snow monotonous, I shut all the doors and shutters To build in the night my fairy palace.
One may prefer spring and summer to autumn and winter, but preference is hardly to the point. The earth turns, and we live in the grain of nature, turning with it.
Autumn. Pretty leaves, pumpkin pie and sweaters. Perfect weather for reading. Winter is great but I hate shoveling.
Once more the liberal year laughs out O'er richer stores than gems or gold: Once more with harvest song and shout Is nature's boldest triumph told.
And if there are no cars or planes, and if no one’s Uncle John is out in the wood lot west of town banging away at a quail or pheasant; if the only sound is the slow beat of your own heart, you can hear another sound, and that is the sound of life winding down to its cyclic close, waiting for the first winter snow to perform last rites.
But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows; Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods All flushed with many hues.