Top Green Leaves Quotes

Browse top 58 famous quotes and sayings about Green Leaves by most favorite authors.

Favorite Green Leaves Quotes

1. "The sincerity of the art worker must permeate the song as naturally as the green leaves break through the dead branches in springtime."
Author: Alma Gluck
2. "Man is smart - If money would have grown on trees, we would have used green leaves as money."
Author: Amit Kalantri
3. "Yes, when I get big and have my own home, no plush chairs and lace curtains for me. And no rubber plants. I'll have a desk like this in my parlor and white walls and a clean green blotter every Saturday night and a row of shining yellow pencils always sharpened for writing and a golden-brown bowl with a flower or some leaves or berries always in it and books . . . books . . . books. . . ."
Author: Betty Smith
4. "Have you been walking in the woods in the last few days?" Matt asked.Lola cleared her throat anxiously. What had she managed to do now, catch jungle fever? "We went hiking in the Greenhills on Wednesday. What's wrong?" Her voice sounded squeaky, so she closed her eyes and took a steadying breath."I don't suppose you've heard of poison ivy," Matt asked. He traced the curve of her knee, pushing the hem of her skirt up her thigh. "Small plant, three leaves, glossy green. Causes a rash of small bumps about a day after contact. Sound familiar?"
Author: Bonnie J. James
5. "As he rose to his feet he noticed that he was neither dripping nor panting for breath as anyone would expect after being under water. His clothes were perfectly dry. He was standing by the edge of a small pool—not more than ten feet from side to side in a wood. The trees grew close together and were so leafy that he could get no glimpse of the sky. All the light was green light that came through the leaves: but there must have been a very strong sun overhead, for this green daylight was bright and warm. It was the quietest wood you could possibly imagine. There were no birds, no insects, no animals, and no wind. You could almost feel the trees growing. The pool he had just got out of was not the only pool. There were dozens of others—a pool every few yards as far as his eyes could reach. You could almost feel the trees drinking the water up with their roots. This wood was very much alive."
Author: C.S. Lewis
6. "The surface of the pond was green with fallen leaves. "How could you have been happy there? I know what you thought, but Valentine was a terrible father. He killed your pets, lied to you, and I know he hit you- don't even try to pretend he didn't."A flicker of a smile ghosted across Jace's face. "Only on alternate Thursdays."
Author: Cassandra Clare
7. "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
8. "Variations: IIGreen light, from the moon,Pours over the dark blue trees,Green light from the autumn moonPours on the grass ...Green light falls on the goblin fountainWhere hesitant lovers meet and pass.They laugh in the moonlight, touching hands,They move like leaves on the wind ...I remember an autumn night like this,And not so long ago,When other lovers were blown like leaves,Before the coming of snow."
Author: Conrad Aiken
9. "Winter has arrived in North London. Snow has settled. The white snow looks beautiful and covers everything my eyes can see, yet beneath the incomprehensible beauty, the snow freezes greenery which struggles to breathe. Green leaves freeze from existence as children scream go faster to fathers who push them along in upside down bin lids, as they make the most of their schools being closed."
Author: Craig Stone
10. "I love your eyes, did you know that? I have never seen eyes as green as yours. They put the leaves of the Amazon Forest to shame. And your unbelievably long and dark lashes make them even more startling."
Author: Cristiane Serruya
11. "I grow green beans in my garden. The one thing I know about harvesting them is that you need to train your eyes to see the beans. At first it all looks like leaves, until you see one bean and then another and another. If you want clarity, too, you have to look hard. You have to look under things and look from different angles. You'll see what you need to when you do that. A hundred beans, suddenly."
Author: Deb Caletti
12. "A tree's shade is worth more than the knowledge of truth, my sons, for a tree's shade is true while it lasts, and the knowledge of truth is false in its very truth. The leaves' greenness is worth more, for a right understanding, than a great thought, for the leaves, greenness is something you can show others, but you can never show them a great thought. We are born without knowing how to talk and we die without having known how to express ourselves. Our life runs its course between the silence of one who cannot speak and the silence of one who wasn't understood, and around it hovers — like a bee where there are no flowers — a useless, inscrutable destiny."
Author: Fernando Pessoa
13. "Sit still with me in the shade of these green trees, which have no weightier thought than the withering of their leaves when autumn arrives, or the stretching of their many stiff fingers into the cold sky of the passing winter. Sit still with me and meditate on how useless effort is, how alien the will, and on how our very meditation is no more useful than effort, and no more our own than the will. Meditate too on how a life that wants nothing can have no weight in the flux of things, but a life the wants everything can likewise have no weight in the flux of things, since it cannot obtain everything, and to obtain less than everything is not worthy of souls that seek the truth."
Author: Fernando Pessoa
14. "One summer day I lay upon the grass. I'd sinned, no matter how, and in sin's wake there came a kind of drowsy peace so deep I hadn't even will enough to loathe myself. I had no mind to pray. I scarcely had a mind at all, just eyes to see the greenwood overhead, just flesh to feel the sun. A light breeze blew from Wear that tossed the trees, and as I lay there watching them, they formed a face of shadows and of leaves. It was a man's green, leafy face. He gazed at me from high above. And as the branches nodded in the air, he opened up his mouth to speak. No sound came from his lips, but by their shape I knew it was my name. His was the holiest face I ever saw. My very name turned holy on his tongue. If he had bade me rise and follow him to the end of time, I would have gone. If he had bade me die for him, I would have died. When I deserved it least, God gave me most. I think it was the Savior's face itself I saw."
Author: Frederick Buechner
15. "They preferred writing about great men to writing about great hills; but they sat on the great hills to write it. They gave out much less about Nature, but they drank in, perhaps, much more. They painted the white robes of their holy virgins with the blinding snow, at which they had stared all day. They blazoned the shields of their paladins with the purple and gold of many heraldic sunsets. The greenness of a thousand green leaves clustered into the live green figure of Robin Hood. The blueness of a score of forgotten skies became the blue robes of the Virgin. The inspiration went in like sunbeams and came out like Apollo."
Author: G.K. Chesterton
16. "We'd never seen anything as green as these rice paddies. It was not just the paddies themselves: the surrounding vegetation - foliage so dense the trees lost track of whose leaves were whose - was a rainbow coalition of one colour: green. There was an infinity of greens, rendered all the greener by splashes of red hibiscus and the herons floating past, so white and big it seemed as if sheets hung out to dry had suddenly taken wing. All other colours - even purple and black - were shades of green. Light and shade were degrees of green. Greenness, here, was less a colour than a colonising impulse. Everything was either already green - like a snake, bright as a blade of grass, sidling across the footpath - or in the process of becoming so. Statues of the Buddha were mossy, furred with green."
Author: Geoff Dyer
17. "Automn ill and adoredYou die when the hurricane blows in the roseriesWhen it has snowedIn the orchard treesPoor automn Dead in whiteness and richesOf snow and ripe fruitsDeep in the skyThe sparrow hawks cryOver the sprites with green hair dwarfsWho've never been lovedInthe far tree-linesThe stags are groaningAnd how I love O season how I love your rumblingThe falling fruits that no one gathersThe wind in the forest that are tumblingAll their tears in automn leaf by leaf The leaves You press A crowd That flows The life That goes"
Author: Guillaume Apollinaire
18. "If writing novels is like planting a forest, then writing short stories is more like planting a garden. The two processes complement each other, creating a complete landscape that I treasure. The green foliage of the trees casts a pleasant shade over the earth, and the wind rustles the leaves, which are sometimes dyed a brilliant gold. Meanwhile, in the garden, buds appear on the flowers, and colorful petals attract bees and butterflies, reminding us of the subtle transition from one season to the next."
Author: Haruki Murakami
19. "Final DispositionOthers divided closets full of mother's things.From the earth, I took her poppies.I wanted those fandango foldsof red and black chiffon she doted on,loving the wild and Moorish music of them,coating her tongue with the thin skinof their crimson petals.Snapping her fingers, flamenco dancer,she'd mock the clack of castanetsin answer to their gypsy cadence.She would crouch toward the flounce of flowers,twirl, stamp her foot, then kick it outas if to lift the ruffles, scarletalong the hemline of her yard.And so, I dug up, soil and all,the thistle-toothed and gray-green clumpsof leaves, the testicle seedpods and hairy stemsboth out of season, to transplant them in my less-exotic garden. There, they bloomher blood's abandon, year after year,roots holding, their poppy heads noddinga carefree, opium-ecstatic, possibly forever sleep."
Author: Jane Glazer
20. "At night she began cooking things in the kitchen, things too strange to mention. She steeped oleander in boiling water, and the roots of a vine with white trumpet flowers that glowed like faces. She soaked a plant collected in moonlight from the neighbors' fence, with little heart-shaped flowers. Then she cooked the water down; the whole kitchen smelled like green and rotting leaves. She threw out pounds of the wet-spinach green stuff into somebody else's dumpster. She wasn't talking to me anymore. She sat on the roof and talked to the moon."
Author: Janet Fitch
21. "The Santa Anas blew in hot from the desert, shriveling the last of the spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. Only the oleanders thrived, their delicate poisonous blooms, their dagger green leaves. We could not sleep in the hot dry nights, my mother and I."
Author: Janet Fitch
22. "A Letter to Andre Breton, Originally Composed on a Leaf of Lettuce With an Ink-dippedCarrotOn my bed, my green comforterdraped over my knees like a lumpy turtle,I think about the Berlin Wall of years that separates us.In my own life, the years are beginning to stack uplike a Guinness World Record's pile of pancakes,yet I'm still searching for some kind of syrup to believe in.In the shadows of my pink sheet, I see your face, Desnos' face,and two clock faces staring at each other. I see a gaping woundthat ebbs rose petals, while a sweaty armpitholds an orchestra. Beethoven, maybe.A lover sings a capella, with the frothiness of a cappuccino.Starbucks, maybe. There's an hourglass, too, and beneath the sandslie untapped oil reserves. I see Dali's mustache,Magritte's pipe, and bowling shoes, which leaves the question--If you could time travel through a trumpet, would you findtoday and tomorrow too loud?"
Author: Jarod Kintz
23. "This private estate was far enough away from the explosion so that its bamboos, pines, laurel, and maples were still alive, and the green place invited refugees—partly because they believed that if the Americans came back, they would bomb only buildings; partly because the foliage seemed a center of coolness and life, and the estate's exquisitely precise rock gardens, with their quiet pools and arching bridges, were very Japanese, normal, secure; and also partly (according to some who were there) because of an irresistible, atavistic urge to hide under leaves."
Author: John Hersey
24. "Oh for a book and a shady nook,Either indoors or out,with the green leaves whispering overhead,or the street cries all about.Where I may read at all my easeboth of the new and old,For a jolly good book whereon to lookis better to me than gold"
Author: John Wilson
25. "Call me not wise unless you call all men wise. A young fruit am I, still clinging to the branch and it was only yesterday that I was a blossom. And call none among you foolish for we are neither wise nor foolish. We are green leaves upon the tree of life and surely life itself if beyond wisdom and surely beyond foolishness."
Author: Kahlil Gibran
26. "All day, I watch humans scurry from store to store. They pass their green paper, dry as old leaves and smelling of a thousand hands, back and forth and back again.They hunt frantically, stalking, pushing, grumbling. Then they leave, clutching bags filled with things - bright things, soft things, big things - but no matter how full the bags, they always come back for more. Humans are clever indeed. They spin pink clouds you can eat. They build domains with flat waterfalls.But they are lousy hunters."
Author: Katherine Applegate
27. "Trees were made of vibrant green leaves sitting on the shoulders of shy green leaves too embarrassed to show themselves."
Author: Kevin James Moore
28. "I can´t speak.I mean,I literally can´t seem to form words.Rush was always shockingly good looking.Tall,lean,dark hair,badass attitude,eyes so green they look like leaves in the sun.But now,he´s something else.He´s breathstealing.He´s wearing a black tank top and jeans that hang on his lean hips.Both arms are covered in vibrant ink,and lean,sexy muscle.And though he still has a boy´s wicked grin,he´s become a man everywhere else"
Author: Laura Wright
29. "The old oak, utterly transformed, draped in a tent of sappy dark green, basked faintly, undulating in the rays of the evening sun. Of the knotted fingers, the gnarled excrecenses, the aged grief and mistrust- nothing was to be seen. Through the rough, century-old bark, where there were no twigs, leaves had burst out so sappy, so young, that is was hard to believe that the aged creature had borne them. "Yes, that is the same tree," thought Prince Andrey, and all at once there came upon him an irrational, spring feeling of joy and renewal. All the best moments of his life rose to his memory at once. Austerlitz, with that lofty sky, and the dead, reproachful face of his wife, and Pierre on the ferry, and the girl, thrilled by the beauty of the night, and that night and that moon- it all rushed at once into his mind."
Author: Leo Tolstoy
30. "As the mist leaves no scarOn the dark green hillSo my body leaves no scarOn you and never will"
Author: Leonard Cohen
31. "A woman once described a friend of hers as being such a keen listener that even the trees leaned toward her, as if they were speaking their innermost secrets into her listening ears. Over the years I've envisioned that woman's silence, a hearing full and open enough that the world told her its stories. The green leaves turned toward her, whispering tales of soft breezes and the murmurs of leaf against leaf."
Author: Linda Hogan
32. "I would like to watch you sleeping,which may not happen.I would like to watch you,sleeping. I would like to sleepwith you, to enteryour sleep as its smooth dark waveslides over my head.and walk with you through that lucentwavering forest of bluegreen leaveswith its watery sun & three moonstowards the cave where you must descend,towards your worst fearI would like to give you the silverbranch, the small white flower, the oneword that will protect youfrom the grief at the centerof your dream, from the griefat the center. I would like to followyou up the long stairwayagain & becomethe boat that would row you backcarefully, a flamein two cupped handsto where your body liesbeside me, and you enterit as easily as beathing inI would like to be the airthat inhabits you for a momentonly. I would like to be that unnoticed& that necessary."
Author: Margaret Atwood
33. "The shop for fuller figures could be seen through broad, green leaves, its windows full, not of dresses, but fat zeros, pot-bellied legless sixes and bosomy eights, and threes like pregnant, primitive goddesses. In the teashop the chairs were being stood on top of the tables and made a forest of their own, sprouting upwards in fountains of coloured leaves."
Author: Margaret Mahy
34. "And, I think, this greening does thaw at the edges, at least, of my own cold season. Joy sneaks in: listening to music, riding my bicycle, I catch myself feeling, in a way that's as old as I am but suddenly seems unfamiliar, light. I have felt so heavy for so long. At first I felt odd- as if I shouldn't be feeling this lightness, that familiar little catch of pleasure in the heart which is inexplicable, though a lovely passage of notes or the splendidly turned petal of a tulip has triggered it. It's my buoyancy, part of what keeps me alive: happy, suddenly with the concomitant experience of a sonata and the motion of the shadows of leaves. I have the desire to be filled with sunlight, to soak my skin in as much of it as I can drink up, after the long interior darkness of this past season, the indoor vigil, in this harshest and darkest of winters, outside and in."
Author: Mark Doty
35. "What the trees can do handsomely-greening and flowering, fading and then the falling of leaves-human beings cannot do with dignity, let alone without pain."
Author: Martha Gellhorn
36. "Soon some of the plants were as big as fruit trees. There were fans of long emerald-green leaves, flowers resembling peacock tails with rainbow-colored eyes, pagodas consisting of sumperimposed unbrellas of violet silk. Thick stems were interwoven like braids. Since they were transparent, they looked like pink glass lit up from within. Some of the blooms looked like clusters of blue and yellow Japanese lanterns. And little by little, as the luminous night growths grew denser, they intertwined to form a tissue of soft light."
Author: Michael Ende
37. "I look out my window at the blue sky,The white clouds,and the green leaves of the Rustling trees,And I realize i'm already in Heaven"
Author: Michelle Geaney
38. "The sun, a red wheel, was sinking slowly in the west. Besides being spectacularly beautiful, the early-summer sunset was exceedingly soft and gentle: black mulberry leaves turned as red as roses; pristine white acacia petals shed an enshrouding pale-green aura. Mild evening breezes made both the mulberry leaves and the acacia petals dance and whirl, filling the woods with a soft rustle."
Author: Mo Yan
39. "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
40. "Landscape is my religion....God in a green legend, I lean over the poolIn a testament of leaves. I dangle my twinkling mood Before me in a cool cave roofed with branchesAnd floored with a skin of water."
Author: Norman MacCaig
41. "I've found what I was looking for, Child: what people call love between a man and a woman is a season. And if, at its flowering, this season is a feast of greenery, at its waning, it's only a heap of rotting leaves."
Author: Oriana Fallaci
42. "The feathery palms that lined the drainage canals, the acacia thorns and sycamores, all glistened with the sheen of new, pale-green leaves, and in Khaemwaset's gardens the vivid clusters of flowers had begun to bloom with an abandon that assaulted the eyes and filled the nostrils with delight."
Author: Pauline Gedge
43. "But usually not. Usually she thinks of the path to his house, whether deer had eaten the tops of the fiddleheads, why they don't eat the peppermint saprophytes sprouting along the creek; or she visualizes the approach to the cabin, its large windows, the fuchsias in front of it where Anna's hummingbirds always hover with dirty green plumage and jeweled throats. Sometimes she thinks about her dream, the one in which her mother wakes up with no hands. The cabin smells of oil paint, but also of pine. The painter's touch is sexual and not sexual, as she herself is....When the memory of that time came to her, it was touched by strangeness because it formed no pattern with the other events in her life. It lay in her memory like one piece of broken tile, salmon-coloured or the deep green of wet leaves, beautiful in itself but unusable in the design she was making"
Author: Robert Hass
44. "It's just going to add to him thinking that I am a crazy, wanky, greenie, hybriddriving hippie," I complained."Has he seen your bomb of a car?" Fran asked in disbelief. "Greenpeace arranges a protest every time it leaves your driveway."
Author: Sean Kennedy
45. "Deep in the meadow, under the willowa bed of grass, a soft green pillow lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyesand when again they open, the sun will rise.Hear it's safe, here it's warm hear the daisies guard you from every harm hear your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true hear is the place where i love you.Deep in the meadow, hidden far away a clock of leaves, a moonbeam rayforget your woes and let your troubles lay and when again it's morning, they'll wash away.Hear it's safe, hears its' warm hear the daises guard you from every harm Hear your dreams are sweet and tomorrow bring them true hear is the place where i love you."
Author: Suzanne Collins
46. "If you, like me, are essentially a city person, then the chances are that when you imagine a wood you picture a simple thing: matching green trees in even rows, a soft carpet of dead leaves or pine needles, orderly as a child's drawing. Possibly those earnestly efficient man-made woods are in fact like that; I wouldn't know."
Author: Tana French
47. "A child, especially a lonely one, one hidden away, is sometimes permitted a glimpse of the little people who inhabit these remote places. These creatures shun the limelight and the intrusion of large humans, preferring to dance, in field and forest, by the light of the moon. Deep within the old forest of tall pines at the foot of the steep meadow below our house is a small clearing where the sun shines through onto the forest floor. It smells wonderful as the sun warms the dry pine needles that lie in a carpet several feet thick on the ground. As a little girl, I visited this spot every few weeks to make a house for the fairies who lived there. First, I'd form the castle wall of pine needles in a circle. Next, some smaller walls for separate rooms. In several, I'd put soft bits of green moss for beds and leaves for coverlets; in others, twigs for chairs and tables."
Author: Testy McTesterson
48. "Everyday we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child - our own two eyes. All is a miracle."
Author: Thích Nhất Hạnh
49. "I am alone. They have gone into the house for breakfast, and I am left standing by the wall among the flowers. It is very early, before lessons. Flower after flower is specked on the depths of green. The petals are harlequins. Stalks rise from the black hollows beneath. The flowers swim like fish made of light upon the dark, green waters. I hold a stalk in my hand. I am the stalk. My roots go down to the depths of the world, through earth dry with brick, and damp earth, through veins of lead and silver. I am all fibre. All tremors shake me, and the weight of the earth is pressed to my ribs. Up here my eyes are green leaves, unseeing."
Author: Virginia Woolf
50. "The Plain Sense of Things"After the leaves have fallen, we returnTo a plain sense of things. It is as ifWe had come to an end of the imagination,Inanimate in an inert savoir.It is difficult even to choose the adjectiveFor this blank cold, this sadness without cause.The great structure has become a minor house.No turban walks across the lessened floors.The greenhouse never so badly needed paint.The chimney is fifty years old and slants to one side.A fantastic effort has failed, a repetitionIn a repetitiousness of men and flies.Yet the absence of the imagination hadItself to be imagined. The great pond,The plain sense of it, without reflections, leaves,Mud, water like dirty glass, expressing silenceOf a sort, silence of a rat come out to see,The great pond and its waste of the lilies, all thisHad to be imagined as an inevitable knowledge,Required, as a necessity requires."
Author: Wallace Stevens

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I completely take on the risk, the poker game, which being an artist means, and I'm going to try to make a film which honestly reflects what I have in my head."
Author: Antonio Banderas

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