Branches And Leaves Quotes

1. "Parker stared at the bare branches along Saint Marks Place as they swayed with the wind, reaching for one another, and longed for the warmth of a million little leaves and their multicolored smiles."
Author: Abby Slovin

2. "We went on, cutting through the branches, and it was as if we were swimming through a sea of leaves, with the bushes as waves rising and falling and rising around us, and flinging their green sprays high to the treetops."
Author: Ayn Rand

3. "Change blows through the branches of our existence. It fortifies the roots on which we stand, infuses crimson experience with autumn hues, dismantles Winter's brittle leaves, and ushers Spring into our fertile environments. Seeds of evolution burst from their pod cocoons and teardrop buds blossom into Summer flowers. Change releases its redolent scent, attracting the buzz of honey bees and the adoration of discerning butterflies."
Author: B.G. Bowers

4. "A cold wind raced across the surrounding fields of wild grass, turning the land into a heaving dark-green ocean. It sighed up through the branches of cherry trees and rattled the thick leaves. Sometimes a cherry would break loose, tumble in the gale, fall and split, filling the night with its fragrance. The air was iron and loam and growth. He walked and tried to pull these things into his lungs, the silence and coolness of them.But someone was screaming, deep inside him. Someone was talking. ("Hunger")"
Author: Charles Beaumont

5. "The young man, perched insecurely in the slen­der branches, rocked till he felt slightly drunk, reached down the boughs, where the scarlet beady cherries hung thick underneath, and tore off handful after handful of the sleek, cool-fleshed fruit. Cherries touched his ears and his neck as he stretched forward, their chill fingertips sending a flash down his blood. All shades of red, from a golden vermilion to a rich crimson, glowed and met his eyes under a dark­ness of leaves."
Author: D.H. Lawrence

6. "In some ways, my mother was right; a tree does look the same from the top as it does from the bottom: same branches, starting as weighty limbs and narrowing to the tiniest twigs; same leaves, quivering in the slightest breeze or in the rush of the trains; same colors, same rustling, same gentle sway. But from earth, looking up, a tree is hopeful; it might be touching the sky. From above, looking down, you can see--it's stuck in the dust, just like us."
Author: Elissa Janine Hoole

7. "In the Ondariva gardens the branches spread out like the tentacles of extraordinary animals, and the plants on the ground opened up stars of fretted leaves like the green skins of reptiles, and waved feathery yellow bamboos with a rustle like paper."
Author: Italo Calvino

8. "I lowered my hands to try to save from disorder the arrangement of the tleaves and flowers; meanwhile, she was also dealing with the branches, leaning forward; and so it happened that at the very moment when one of my hands slipped in confusion between Madame Miyagi's kimono and her bare skin and found itself clasping a soft and warm breast, elongated in form, one of the lady's hands, from among the branches keiyaki [translator's note: in Europe called Caucasian elm], had reached my member and was holding it in a firm, frank grasp, drawing it from my garments as if she were performing the operation of stripping away leaves."
Author: Italo Calvino

9. "I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a Golden Tree.Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion.There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears.O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither ShoreAnd in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.But if of ships I now would sing, what ship would come to me,What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?"
Author: J.R.R. Tolkien

10. "Autumn comeslike a buyer of cloth,her long fingerstouching,turning orange,yellow, brown.taking what she wants,stretchingthe bone taut air.Her skin crackles beneathour feet.I didn't think anyone wanted me,bruises pulled like a sweater aroundmy neck.We talkin the pore tightening air,branches bare,about the girl buried in the chillof prewinter.We show each otherour mutilated childrenin the guise of womenas autumn plucksat our lips.Each color, blue, black, ochrepopping like kisseson the rib lined flesh,the puberty soft things.And we musehow womenkeep bruiseshiddenbeneath deadleaves."
Author: Janice Mirikitani

11. "I heard a rapid alternation of notes,a vibrating staccato of an ancient instrument,nearly as old as nature herself, a cricket singingin my garden last night, the first time this year. When turning my garden's soil,I often uncover crickets, curmudgeons that scramble to find solitudeand cover from the light,but I rarely hear theirancient song 'till near summer's end. Although the wind is now lofting the branchesand rustling the leaves,the evening sun still warms my face. And my garden still blooms fullwith pink-papered hollyhocksand blue, green spikes of lavender,and roses, bright pinks and yellows, all glowing from sunshine-swelled canes, and zinnias, rainbow-shingled orbs,and more. And yet, I am already dreading the coming of fall, all dressed in small rags of red, yellow, and orange. I know that my summer garden is nearing its end,as hailed by the cricket's song."
Author: Jeffrey A. White

12. "Sophie picked her way through the forest, stepping over tree roots, and pushing aside low-lying branches, letting them snap back behind her with reckless abandon. The sun barely squeaked through the canopy of leaves above her, and down at ground level, it felt more like dusk than midday."
Author: Julia Quinn

13. "A gentle breeze catches in the branches then and I hear it, soft and low, a murmured prayer--Gem-ma, Gem-ma--and then the leaves bend down and trail delicate fingers across my cold cheeks."
Author: Libba Bray

14. "Last nightthe rainspoke to meslowly, saying, what joyto come fallingout of the brisk cloud, to be happy againin a new wayon the earth! That's what it saidas it dropped, smelling of iron, and vanishedlike a dream of the oceaninto the branchesand the grass below.Then it was over.The sky cleared.I was standingunder a tree.The tree was a treewith happy leaves, and I was myself, and there were stars in the skythat were also themselvesat the momentat which momentmy right handwas holding my left handwhich was holding the treewhich was filled with starsand the soft rain –imagine! imagine! the long and wondrous journeysstill to be ours."
Author: Mary Oliver

15. "Five girls sat beside, and upon the branches of, the oldest apple tree in the orchard, its huge trunk making a fine seat and support; and whenever the May breeze blew, the pink blossoms tumbled down like snow, coming to rest in their hair and on their skirts. The afternoon sunlight dappled green and silver and gold through the leaves in the apple orchard."
Author: Neil Gaiman

16. "How could the wind be so strong, so far inland, that cyclistscoming into the town in the late afternoon looked more likesailors in peril? This was on the way into Cambridge, up MillRoad past the cemetery and the workhouse. On the openground to the left the willow-trees had been blown, drivenand cracked until their branches gave way and lay about thedrenched grass, jerking convulsively and trailing cataracts oftwigs. The cows had gone mad, tossing up the silvery weepingleaves which were suddenly, quite contrary to all their exper-ience, everywhere within reach. Their horns were festoonedwith willow boughs. Not being able to see properly, theytripped and fell. Two or three of them were wallowing ontheir backs, idiotically, exhibiting vast pale bellies intended bynature to be always hidden. They were still munching. A sceneof disorder, tree-tops on the earth, legs in the air, in a universitycity devoted to logic and reason."
Author: Penelope Fitzgerald

17. "A full moon, although less splendid than that earlier on,lit everything around. Before I reached the point where I would have to leave the road and set off across country, the narrow path I was following seemed suddenly to end and disappear behind a large hedge, and there before me, as if blocking my way, stood a single, tall tree, very dark at first against the transparently clear night sky. Out of nowhere, a breeze got up. It set the tender stems of the grasses shivering, made the green blades of the reeds shudder and sent a ripple across the brown waters of a puddle. Like a wave, it lifted up the spreading branches of the tree and, murmuring, climbed the trunk, and then, suddenly, the leaves turned their undersides to the moon and the whole beech tree (because it was a beech) was covered in white as far as the topmost branch.It was only a moment, no more than that, but the memory of it will last as long as my life lasts."
Author: Saramago, José

18. "Just as I can't see a clear brook without at least stopping to dangle my feet in it, I can't see a meadow in May and simply pass by. There is nothing more seductive then such fragrant earth, the blossoms of clover swaying above it like a light foam, and the petal-bedecked branches of the fruit trees reaching upward, as if they wanted to rescue themselves from this tranquil sea. No, I have to turn from my path and immerse myself in this richness . . . When I turn my head, my cheek grazes the rough trunk of the apple tree next to me. How protectively it spreads its good branches over me. Without ceasing the sap rises from its roots, nuturing even the smallest of leaves. Do I hear, perhaps, a secret heartbeat? I press my face against its dark, warm bark and think to myself: homeland, and am so indescribably happy in this instant."
Author: Sophie Scholl

19. "And then she closed her eyes, and they could no longer touch her. She no longer embraced what they threatened. Linh was there, and when she reached for his hand, her own had become stiff and brittle, her arms become branches, and from her kees to her groin to her belly to her breasts came a covering, an armor of gnarled bark, and her hair, when she reached for it, had th easpect of leaves. She opened her eyes, alive, and she turned to look deeply and without fear into her boy soldier's face......the leader came and knelt down to look at Helen, and her mouth so full of liquid she gagged, spitting out Buddha and fragments of stone. The man picked up the small medallion and stared at her in wonder."
Author: Tatjana Soli

20. "It was an unusual sunset. Having sat behind opaque drapery all day, I had not realized that a storm was pushing in and that much of the sky was the precise shade of old suits of armor one finds in museums. At the same time, patches of brilliance engaged in a territorial dispute with the oncoming onyx of the storm. Light and darkness mingled in strange ways both above and below. Shadows and sunshine washed together, streaking the landscape with an unearthly study of glare and gloom. Bright clouds and black folded into each other in a no-man's land of the sky. The autumn trees took on the appearance of sculptures formed in a dream, their leaden-colored trunks and branches and iron-red leaves all locked in an infinite and unliving moment, unnaturally timeless. The gray lake slowly tossed and tumbled in a dead sleep, nudging unconsciously against its breakwall of numb stone. A scene of contradiction and ambivalence, a tragicomedic haze over all. A land of perfect twilight."
Author: Thomas Ligotti

21. "Lunar Paraphrase"The moon is the mother of pathos and pity.When, at the wearier end of November,Her old light moves along the branches,Feebly, slowly, depending upon them;When the body of Jesus hangs in a pallor,Humanly near, and the figure of Mary,Touched on by hoar-frost, shrinks in a shelterMade by the leaves, that have rotted and fallen;When over the houses, a golden illusionBrings back an earlier season of quietAnd quieting dreams in the sleepers in darkness—The moon is the mother of pathos and pity."
Author: Wallace Stevens

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