Listen! the wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves, we have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!— Humbert Wolfe
Impressive October And Fall quotations
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.
In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October.
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.
Love the trees until their leaves fall off, then encourage them to try again next year.
And he that will go to bed sober, Falls with the leaf still in October.
I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.
When everything that ticked has stopped, and space stares, all around, or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground.
Change is a measure of time and, in the autumn, time seems speeded up.
What was is not and never again will be; what is is change.
There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings as now in October.
Autumn arrives in the early morning.
Autumn is as joyful and sweet as an untimely end.
October arrives in a swirl of fragrant blue leaf smoke, the sweetness of slightly frosted MacIntosh apples, and little hard acorns falling. We are in the midst of cool crisp days, purple mists, and Nature recklessly tossing her whole palette of dazzling tones through fields and woodlands.
Fall is not the end of the gardening year;
it is the start of next year's growing season. The mulch you lay down will protect your perennial plants during the winter and feed the soil as it decays, while the cleaned up flower bed will give you a huge head start on either planting seeds or setting out small plants.
October is the month for painted leaves.
Their rich glow now flashes round the world. As fruits and leaves and the day itself acquire a bright tint just before they fall, so the year near its setting. October is its sunset sky; November the later twilight.
Autumn is a season followed immediately by looking forward to spring.
There ought to be gardens for all months in the year, in which, severally, things of beauty may be then in season.
Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.
Dusk was falling quickly. It was just after 7 P.M., and the month was October.
October's gold is dim — the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapped in damp.
Gardening imparts an organic perspective on the passage of time.
Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.
The stripped and shapely Maple grieves The ghosts of her Departed leaves.
The ground is hard, As hard as stone. The year is old, The birds are flown.
Pale amber sunlight falls across The reddening October trees.
... Are we not better and at home In dreamful Autumn, we who deem No harvest joy is worth a dream? A little while and night shall come, A little while, then, let us dream.
The sweet calm sunshine of October, now Warms the low spot;
upon its grassy mold The pur0ple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.
It was Rome, on the fifteenth of October, 1764, as I sat musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol, while the barefooted friars were singing vespers in the Temple of Jupiter, that the idea of writing the decline and fall of the city first started to my mind.
January cold and desolate; February dripping wet; March wind ranges; April changes; Birds sing in tune To flowers of May, And sunny June Brings longest day; In scorched July The storm-clouds fly, Lightning-torn; August bears corn, September fruit; In rough October Earth must disrobe her; Stars fall and shoot In keen November; And night is long And cold is strong In bleak December.
He who goes to bed, and goes to bed sober,Falls as the leaves do, and dies in October;But he who goes to bed, and goes to bed mellow,Lives as he ought to do, and dies an honest fellow.
I ate breakfast in the kitchen by candle-light, and then drove the five miles to the station through the most glorious October colouring. The sun came up on the way, and the swamp maples and dogwood glowed crimson and orange and the stone walls and cornfields sparkled with hoar frost; the air was keen and clear and full of promise. I knew something was going to happen.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap And seeing that it was a soft October night Curled once about the house, and fell asleep