Autumn Quotes (page 2)
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The autumn winds rushing. Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and for ever!
Walter Scott
And Yet the Books. And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings, That appeared once, still wet. As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn, And, touched, coddled, began to live. In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up, Tribes on the march, planets in motion.
Czeslaw Milosz
If I could live again my life,In the next - I'll try,- to make more mistakes,I won't try to be so perfect,I'll be more relaxed...I'll take fewer things seriously..I'll take more risks,I'll take more trips,I'll watch more sunsets,I'll climb more mountains,I'll swim more rivers,I'll go to more places I've never beenI'll eat more ice ...I'll have more real problems and less imaginary onesIf I could live again - I will travel light If I could live again - I'll try to work bare feet at the...
Jorge Luis Borges
On this particular autumn night, only the prospect of another solitary evening lies before her. She will fry her chop and read herself to sleep, no doubt with a tale of wizardry and romance. Then, in dreams that strike even her as trite, Miss Dark will go adventuring in chain mail and silk. Tomorrow morning she will wake up alone, and do it all again. Poor Judy Dark! Poor little librarians of the world, those girls, secretly lovely, their looks marred forever by the cruelty of a pair of big...
Michael Chabon
For these beings, fall is ever the normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? The grave. Does blood stir their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth....Such are the...
Ray Bradbury
September has come, it is hers. Whose vitality leaps in the autumn, Whose nature prefers. Trees without leaves and a fire in the fireplace. So I give her this month and the next. Though the whole of my year should be hers who has rendered already. So many of its days intolerable or perplexed. But so many more so happy. Who has left a scent on my life, and left my walls. Dancing over and over with her shadow. Whose hair is twined in all my waterfalls. And all of London littered with remembered...
Louis MacNeice
At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.
Rainer Maria Rilke
...One autumn night, five years before, they had been walking down the street when the leaves were falling, and they came to a place where there were no trees and the sidewalk was white with moonlight. They stopped here and turned toward each other. Now it was a cool night with that mysterious excitement in it which comes at the two changes of the year.
F. Scott Fitzgerald