Grass Quotes (page 13)
-
-
-
We return you to the Vice President, who is now addressing the National Sword Swallowers Association."-the psychotics, the sob sisters, the skin merchants, the saboteurs, the self-styled Sapphos, the self-styled Swinburners, the swine, the satyrs, the schizos, the sodomists, the sissies, the screamers, the screwy, the scum, the self-congratulatory self-congratulators, the sensationalists, the snakes in the grass, the sex fiends, the shiftless, the shines, the shaggy, the sickly, the syphilitic-
Philip Roth
The whole world is, to me, very much "alive" - all the little growing things, even the rocks. I can't look at a swell bit of grass and earth, for instance, without feeling the essential life - the things going on - within them. The same goes for a mountain, or a bit of the ocean, or a magnificent piece of old wood.
Ansel Adams
I was twenty-one at the time, about to turn twenty-two. No prospect of graduating soon, and yet no reason to quit school. Caught in the most curiously depressing circumstances. For months I'd been stuck, unable to take one step in any new direction. The world kept moving on; I alone was at a standstill. In the autumn, everything took on a desolate cast, the colors swiftly fading before my eyes. The sunlight, the smell of the grass, the faintest patter of rain, everything got on my nerves.
Haruki Murakami
Do you know I don't know how one can walk by a tree and not be happy at the sight of it? How can one talk to a man and not be happy in loving him! Oh, it's only that I'm not able to express it...And what beautiful things there are at every step, that even the most hopeless man must feel to be beautiful! Look at a child! Look at God's sunrise! Look at the grass, how it grows! Look at the eyes that gaze at you and love you!...
Fyodor Dostoevsky
Ever since this day I have dreamt sometimes... I, a street rat in my soul, dream even now... that if it were possible to life this littered, paved Manhattan from the earth... and all its torn and dripping pipes and conduits and tunnels and tracks and cables--all of it, like a scab from new skin underneath--how seedlings would sprout and freshets bubble up, and brush and grasses would grow over the rolling hills...
E. L. Doctorow
If you had your way you’d pass a law to abolish all the little jobs, the little things. But then you’d leave yourselves nothing to do between the big jobs and you’d have a devil of a time thinking up things to do so you wouldn’t go crazy. Instead of that, why not let nature show you a few things? Cutting grass and pulling weeds can be a way of life, son.
Ray Bradbury
[Jos] Saramago for the last 25 years stood his own with any novelist of the Western world [..] He was the equal of Philip Roth, Gunther Grass, Thomas Pynchon and Don DeLillo. His genius was remarkably versatile? he was at once a great comic and a writer of shocking earnestness and grim poignancy. It is hard to believe he will not survive.
Harold Bloom
I cannot count the pebbles in the brook. Well hath He spoken: "Swear not by thy head. Thou knowest not the hairs," though He, we read, writes that wild number in His own strange book. I cannot count the sands or search the seas, death cometh, and I leave so much untrod. Grant my immortal aureole, O my God, and I will name the leaves upon the trees, In heaven I shall stand on gold and glass, still brooding earth's arithmetic to spell; or see the fading of the fires of hellere I have thanked my...
Gilbert K. Chesterton
There is a place where the sidewalk ends. And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight. To cool in the peppermint wind. Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black. And the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow. We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go. To the place where the sidewalk...
Shel Silverstein
On the blue summer evenings, I will go along the paths, And walk over the short grass, as I am pricked by the wheat: Daydreaming I will feel the coolness on my feet. I will let the wind bathe my bare head. I will not speak, I will have no thoughts: But infinite love will mount in my soul; And I will go far, far off, like a gypsy, through the countryside - as happy as if I were a woman. "Sensation
Arthur Rimbaud
What though the radiance which was once so bright. Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour. Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find. Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy. Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring. Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.
William Wordsworth