Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Evergreen. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Evergreen Quotes And Sayings by 92 Authors including William C. Bryant,Jean Hersey,Lewis Carroll,Jacquetta Hawkes,George Nakashima for you to enjoy and share.
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.
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.
In spring, when woods are getting green, I'll try and tell you what I mean.
In the sheltered heart of the clumps last year's foliage still clings to the lower branches, tatters of orange that mutter with the passage of the wind, the talk of old women warning the green generation of what they, too, must come to when the sap runs back.
A tree is our most intimate contact with nature.
And as, when all the summer trees are seen So bright and green, The Holly leaes a sober hue display Less bright than they, But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the Holly-tree?
I felt a positive yearning toward one bush this afternoon. There was a match found for me at last. I fell in love with a shrub oak.
Burning the small dead branches broke from beneath thick spreading whitebark pine. A hundred summers snowmelt rock and air hiss in a twisted bough.
I always feel at home where the sugar maple grows ... glorious in autumn, a fountain of coolness in summer, sugar in its veins, gold in its foliage, warmth in its fibers, and health in it the year round.
lawn and flowering dogwood
Bergulme. Elsbeere. Hagebuche. Efeu. Scots elm. Service tree. Hornbeam.
The year is ended, and it only adds to my age;
Spring has come, but I must take leave of my home.
Alas, that the trees in this eastern garden,
Without me, will still bear flowers.
Neverwinter Wood.
A single slim trunk
Branches that bow in a storm
Green, leathery leaves with a soft centre
Glittering against blue sky
White bark scarred, bleeding
Heart wide-open
Bandaged, but upright she stands... (225)
In Georgia, there was a eucalyptus tree in the wood across from Hattie's house, but the plant had been hard to come by in the Philadelphia winter.
The garden stretched out in a soft drift, colors jumbled any way, an unmade bed of red and yellow and pink. Then came the trees. Apple, plum, and the Japanese black pine.
The leaves on the white-barked quaky trees around the nearby lake glow like embers, fiery gold and auburn against the evergreens. The sight is a warm welcome home.
Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous; gray light streaking each bare branch, each single twig, along one side, making another tree, of glassy veins.
In snowbound, voiceless, mountain depths, to herald spring, pine trees sound in tune.
Hawthorn, white and odorous with blossom, framing the quiet fields, and swaying flowers and grasses, and the hum of bees.
The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn
A large, branching, aged oak is perhaps the most venerable of all inanimate objects.
Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter.
A noble plant suites not with a stubborne ground.
Trees are green gold
Look lak we done run our conversation from grass roots tuh pine trees.
The tree that God plants, no winde hurts it.
Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night ...
The oak tree is firm and elegant and upright. The weeping willow has allowed the burdens of life to bend it.
Hikes in the winter forest, so surreal - Emerson knew about them. He had seen the woods at twilight. Never was a more brilliant show of colored landscape than yesterday afternoon; incredibly excellent topaz and ruby at four o'clock; cold and shabby at six.
The tree is stripped,
All color, fragrance gone,
Yet already on the bough,
Uncaring spring!
Arbores loqui latine. The trees speak Latin.
A stricken tree, a living thing, so beautiful, so dignified, so admirable in its potential longevity, is, next to man, perhaps the most touching of wounded objects.
Not foliage green, but of a fusk colour,
Not branches smooth, but gnarled and intertangled
not apple-tress were there, but thorns with poison.
The oak tree:
not interested
in cherry blossoms.
The heavy trees,
The grunting, shuffling branches, the robust,
The nocturnal, the antique, the blue-green pines
Deepen the feelings to inhuman depths.
The scent of trees was in the air.
Trees are your best antiques.
The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.
No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.
What child has ever known the country and has not twined hundreds of fragrant wreaths with the yellow shining cowslip and the more frail and delicate violet - mingling here and there green leaves culled from the odorous eglantine, or, as we more commonly call it, sweetbriar.
Only yonder magnificent pine-tree ... holds her unchanging beauty throughout the year, like her half-brother, the ocean, whose voice she shares; and only marks the flowing of her annual tide of life by the new verdure that yearly submerges all trace of last year's ebb.
In America the most widespread type of forest is the evergreen coniferous woodland of the north.
Fragrant o'er all the western groves The tall magnolia towers unshaded.
Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees. Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts; and if people in general could be got into the woods, even for once, to hear the trees speak for themselves, all difficulties in the way of forest preservation would vanish.
Observe the beauty of forest.
Forest is forest.
The branches are a storm around me, and I fall into a deep well of green. The needles and limbs rush past. It is a whirling motion of green and brown branches.
The trees seemed to clothe the hill,
The aged oak upon the steep stands more firm and secure if assailed by angry winds; for if the winter bares its head, the more strongly it strikes its roots into the ground, acquiring strength as it loses beauty.
To exist as a nation, to prosper as a state, and to live as a people, we must have trees.
Autumn afternoon:
a sycamore leaf
falls softly
and rests
on its own shadow
What is last year's snow to me,
Last year's anything? The tree
Budding yearly must forget
How its past arose or set
There is no scent in it so wholesome as that of the pines, nor any fragrance so penetrating and restorative as the life-everlasting in high pastures.
Already, the Elms and the Chestnuts are gone, and the Hemlocks and the Flowering Dogwoods. And I didn't get a chance to climb them yet.
The landscape of my childhood was one of fierce occupation by trees.
Leaves lift trees.
From the green belt balcony, the wildfires look so pretty
Ponderosa canopy, I'd never leave if it were up to me
To the ruby redwood tree, and to the velvet climbing ivy painted all mahogany
I'd never leave if it were up to me
Ragweed,wild oat,vetch,butcher grass,invaginate volunteer beans,all heads gently nodding in a morning breeze like a mother's soft hand on your cheek ...
That night the first frost of autumn struck Tucker's Grove. It crept up from the ground, snaring the fragile roots of plants. It emerged from the air, etching its signature on window-panes. A portent. The year was nearing its end. Things would die soon.
Wild steep mountains floating in a haze of cloud...a sea of green trees swallowing the hills and valleys, and curling around the trails and rivers, with the wind in the leaves as its tide.
Ground, impaled on the trunk of a tree that has been shaved down to the point of
Only after Winter comes do we know that the pine and the cypress are the last to fade.
moss that is concentrating on being green.
That's what the myrtle means. Myrtle for marriage, ivy for faithfulness, ferns for sincerity, and rosemary for remembrance.
Plants are the young of the world, vessels of health and vigor; but they grope ever upward towards consciousness; the trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment, rooted in the ground.
All green was anished sae of pine and yew, That still displayed their melancholy hue; Sae the green holly with its berries red, And the green moss that o'er the grael spread.
This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.
Winter reveals the massive, complex, muscular organization of the ancient oak. Like an old man stripped of his Savile Row, tailored suit - no less impressive in his mature nakedness.
Steam rising underneath a canopy of whispering, changing aspens; starlight in the clear, dark night, and wondrous beauty in every direction. If only all could feel this way, to be so captured and enthralled with autumn.
I stand there at the corner, known
by the equinox and knowing
nothing, exposed by the alethic
light of those apples,
that fearless crocus,
the magnolia tree, its chandelier
of tears.
Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light.
The leaves of these [larch] trees are like those of the pine; timber from them comes in long lengths, is as easily wrought in joiner's work as is the clearwood of fir, and contains a liquid resin, of the color of Attic honey, which is good for consumptives .
town of Angel Haven lies somewhere in the central United States, its landscape blessed long ago by the Star Witches. A vast forest of majestic trees surrounds the town, creating a natural barricade from the world outside. The trees range from evergreen saplings
Dante: Evergreens aren't supposed to die
Renee: Everything Dies ..
Feathered with hoarfrost, skeletal trees loom closer; fog shrouded arches.
The ground's soft with pine needles and the occasional crunch of a cone. The air smells like it's just been born.
The landscape here was strange. It was some type of forest, with giant vines that grew into spirals, round and round, growing up fifty metres toward the sky. They were massive. Some were fifteen metres across, narrowing as they rose.
To see a hillside white with dogwood bloom is to know a particular ecstasy of beauty, but to walk the gray Winter woods and find the buds which will resurrect that beauty in another May is to partake of continuity.
I was just getting acquainted with the wood. I wanted to see if it was maple or pine.
Winter is the night of vegetation.
Dr. Loveless: Dang these pine needles. Why can't a forest be decently carpeted?
Wild Wild West (TV) Second Season: Night of the Green Terror
green forest, then took some photographs
All winter the acorns and red Maple leaf moldered in silence - in the same way grief is gnawing at me - slowly, imperceptibly ... consuming ...
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn
An autumn forest is such a place that once entered you never look for the exit!
How vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays; And their uncessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb or tree. Whose short and narrow verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid; While all flow'rs and all trees do close To weave the garlands of repose.
Pines and spruces can't be sheared like yew or hemlock, but they are stately in large landscapes, where their eventual size is a plus. (But they are a nightmare in small yards, where their eventual size is like having a brontosaurus nesting in the front yard.)
Greene wood makes a hott fire.
The fire in leaf and grass so green it seems each summer the last summer.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
Trees down south have a difference to them, a subtle, slinking movement, mile by mile- a gracefulness, a swagger. Lanky trees stretching out their wiry thin, Spanish moss-covered branches, moss that sways and beckons ... come here, come here, it says.
Humid the air! Leafless, yet soft as spring. The tender purple spray on copse and briers! And that sweet city with her dreaming spires, she needs not June for beauty's heightening. Lovely all the time she lies ...
The seeds of a redwood are released from cones that are about the size of olives. The heartwood of the tree is a dark, shimmery red in color, like old claret. The wood has a lemony scent and is extremely resistant to rot.
From the pine tree, learn of the pine tree; And from the bamboo, of the bamboo
What earnest worker, with hand and brain for the benefit of his fellowmen, could desire a more pleasing recognition of his usefulness than the monument of a tree, ever growing, ever blooming, and ever bearing wholesome fruit?
So quiet and subtle is the beauty of December that escapes the notice of many people their whole lives through.. Colour gives way to form. every branch distinct, in a delicate tracery against the sky.. new vistas obscured all Summer by leafage, now open up.
Of all the wonders of nature, a tree in summer is perhaps the most remarkable; with the possible exception of a moose singing 'Embraceable You' in spats.
Fair fresh leaves, and buds - and buds - tiny at first but swelling and working Magic until they burst and uncurled into cups of scent delicately spilling themselves over their brims and filling the garden air.
The white spruce forest along the banks is most inspiring, magnificent here. Down the terraced slopes and right to the water's edge on the alluvial soil it stands in ranks.