Autumn Season Quotes

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.

Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!

True men" ... are strong willed, have dignity in their demeanor, serenity in their expression. They are cool like autumn, warm like spring. Their passions arise like the four seasons, in harmony with the ten thousand creatures, and no one knows their limits.

Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.

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.

I loved autumn, the one season of the year that God seemed to have put there just for the beauty of it.

There is no season such delight can bring, as summer, autumn, winter and the spring.

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it.

Autumn truly is what summer pretends to be: the best of all seasons.

It is as glorious as summer is tedious; as subtle as summer is obvious; as refreshing as summer is wearying. Autumn seems like paradise.

The season for enjoying the fullness of life - partaking of the harvest, sharing the harvest with others, and reinvesting and saving portions of the harvest for yet another season of growth.

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.

Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.

Every year, in November, at the season that follows the hour of the dead, the crowning and majestic hours of autumn, I go to visit the chrysanthemums ... They are indeed, the most universal, the most diverse of flowers.

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.

In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfies See the smoke trail! Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes, the grey smoke towers. Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all, Flowers in the summer Fires in the fall!

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape.

Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.

Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun.

I notice that Autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature.

Then summer fades and passes and October comes.

We'll smell smoke then, and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure.

The autumn always gets me badly, as it breaks into colours.

I want to go south, where there is no autumn, where the cold doesn't crouch over one like a snow-leopard waiting to pounce.

There are having flowers in Spring, breezes in Summer, moon in Autumn, snows in Winter. If there is nothing worrying over you, it will be the best seasons at all times.

Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through the mountains, a torch flung to the trees.

Spring comes with flowers, autumn with the moon, summer with the breeze, winter with snow. When idle concerns don't fill your thoughts, that's your best season.

I cannot endure to waste anything as precious as autumn sunshine by staying in the house. So I spend almost all the daylight hours in the open air.

Nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own.

Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.

I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.

Why is it that so many of us persist in thinking that autumn is a sad season? Nature has merely fallen asleep, and her dreams must be beautiful if we are to judge by her countenance.

When everything that ticked has stopped, and space stares, all around, or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground.

The wind that makes music in November corn is in a hurry.

The stalks hum, the loose husks whisk skyward in half-playing swirls, and the wind hurries on.... A tree tries to argue, bare limbs waving, but there is no detaining the wind.

Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.