Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.— Matsuo Basho
Charming Autumn Days quotations
Some days I wish I could go back in life. Not to change anything, but to feel a few things twice.
While cares will drop off like autumn leaves.
My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.
One day, you will wake up and there won't be any more time to do the thing you've always wanted. Do it now.
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.
All flesh is one: what matter scores;
Or color of the suit Or if the helmet glints with blue or gold? All is one bold achievement, All is fine spring-found-again-in-autumn day When juices run in antelopes along our blood, And green our flag, forever green...
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.
I fear the day that technology will surpass our human interaction. The world will have a generation of idiots.
Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place, and I can picture it after all these days.
Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard.
It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.
A little progress each day adds up to bg results.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
This was one of those perfect New England days in late summer where the spirit of autumn takes a first stealing flight, like a spy, through the ripening country-side, and, with feigned sympathy for those who droop with August heat, puts her cool cloak of bracing air about leaf and flower and human shoulders.
A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.
There comes a day when you realize turning the page is the best feeling in the world, because you realize there is so much more to the book than the page you were stuck on.
Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.
It was Indian summer, a bluebird sort of day as we call it in the north, warm and sunny, without a breath of wind; the water was sky-blue, the shores a bank of solid gold.
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.
As the days grow short, some faces grow long.
But not mine. Every autumn, when the wind turns cold and darkness comes early, I am suddenly happy. It's time to start making soup again.
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it.
O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow, Make the day seem to us less brief... Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst.
Isn't it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is different.
Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.
Fall has always been my favorite season.
The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.
In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October.
Look for something positive in every day, even if some days you have to look a little harder.
You wonder what I am doing? Well, so do I, in truth.
Days seem to dawn, suns to shine, evenings to follow, and then I sleep. What I have done, what I am doing, what I am going to do, puzzle and bewilder me. Have you ever been a leaf and fallen from your tree in autumn and been really puzzled about it? That’s the feeling.
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape.
Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.
It was a beautiful bright autumn day, with air like cider and a sky so blue you could drown in it.
There are seven days in the week and someday isn't one of them.
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
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.
All those golden autumn days the sky was full of wings.
Wings beating low over the blue water of Silver Lake, wings beating high in the blue air far above it . . . bearing them all away to the green fields in the South.
Never regret a day in your life: good days give happiness, bad days give experience, worst days give lessons, and best days give memories.
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock-When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day;
the sky was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tendered kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet.
How strange and awful is the synthesis of life and death in the gusty winds and falling leaves of an autumnal day!
You will never have this day again, so make it count.
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
Autumn that year painted the countryside in vivid shades of scarlet, saffron and russet, and the days were clear and crisp under harvest skies.
By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.
Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autumn night. All its allotted length of days The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.
If he does go, the change will be doleful.
Suppose he should be absent spring, summer, and autumn: how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem!