Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Leaf. 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 Leaf Quotes And Sayings by 93 Authors including Carol Bishop Hipps,Cory Basil,Sylvain Reynard,Eiji Yoshikawa,Henry Ward Beecher for you to enjoy and share.
Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter.
As the leaf takes its time finding the ground so must I.
You are my sticky little leaf. My beautiful, sad, sticky little leaf, and I want to see you happy and whole.
It was only leaves and branches.
At the bottom of every leaf-stem is a cradle, and in it is an infant germ; the winds will rock it, the birds will sing to it all summer long, but the next season it will unfold and go alone.
Leaves are light, and useless, and idle, and wavering, and changeable; they even dance; and yet God in his wisdom has made them a part of oaks. And in so doing he has given us a lesson, not to deny the stout-heartedness within because we see the lightsomeness without.
Each day is a dry leaf, which never comes back to life again.
There is so much to learn from leaves who graciously dance in thunder, rain and storm, in heat and merciless cold, dance to a song of their own indifferent that in time they will curl and die for it is not for them to know but only to dance and be happy.
When in still air and still in summertime
A leaf has had enough of this, it seems
To make up its mind to go; fine as a sage
Its drifting in detachment down the road.
The tree that God plants, no winde hurts it.
Turn over a new leaf.
Love as air loves the leaves.
Give me the strength to leaf, for I fear otherwise we may hang ourselves.
The leaf, still green, must someday fall such grief and joy to live at all.
An autumn leaf is the corpse of that leaf and what a crazy thing that we love these corpses!
You walk in my dreams, Leafpool
In every change, in every falling leaf there is some pain, some beauty. And that's the way new leaves grow.
The fire in leaf and grass so green it seems each summer the last summer.
The leaves, they run like mice, while birds peck at the ground. The wood has rotted in its bin. The grim axe has come round
Give me a land of boughs in leaf
A land of trees that stand;
Where trees are fallen there is grief;
I love no leafless land.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
One of the things that makes a dead leaf fall to the ground is the bud of the new leaf that pushes it off the limb.
She was so delicate that, while we sat beneath the linden branches, a leaf would fall and drift down and touch her skin, and it would leave a bruise. So as we sat in the afternoon hour, beneath that fragrant linden bower, I had to chase all of the leafs that fell away.
We came to woodlands, with leaves unfurling on every branch, as if one blow of spring's green hammer had set them exploding from the bud.
It suddenly hit me one day: after we're married I'll be called Mrs T Leaf!
moss that is concentrating on being green.
Well as giraffes say, you don't get no leaves unless you stick your neck out.
Leaves die, but trees do not. They only undress.
Leaves, while they live, hang together; dying, they fall one by one.
The leaves had fallen from the trees and lay crisp and crackling beneath his feet. Picking one up he marveled, not for the first time, at the perfection of nature where leaves were most beautiful at the very end of their lives.
A leaf that is destined to grow large is full of grooves and wrinkles at the start. Now if one has no patience and wants it smooth offhand like a willow leaf, there is trouble ahead.
For in the wood these golden days Some leaf obeys its Maker's call. And through their hollow aisles it plays With delicate touch the prelude of the Fall.
Fallen leaves grow back come spring.
October's Party
October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came -
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.
Not a leaf moves in this country if I'm not moving it.
Leaf felt buried beneath the remains of their prior life, the ashes coating every part of who he thought he was in this community.
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars,
The foliage has been losing its freshness through the month of August, and here and there a yellow leaf shows itself like the first gray hair amidst the locks of a beauty who has seen one season too many.
No life form on this planet undergoes such a slow and graceful death as the tobacco leaf.
And he that will go to bed sober, Falls with the leaf still in October.
The sweet calm sunshine of October, now
Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mold
The pur0ple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough
drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.
Winter, the aged chief, Mighty in power, Exiles the tender leaf, Exiles the flower.
Yesterday the twig was brown and bare;
To-day the glint of green is there;
Tomorrow will be leaflets spare;
I know no thing so wondrous fair,
No miracle so strangely rare.
I wonder what will next be there!
She liked the way a ray of mild autumn sun infiltrating the thick cluster of trees caught a reddish orange leaf swirling in the wind and transformed it golden yellow. She liked that it wasn't a leaf she recognised, that she could name or associate with her past.
I bowed my heard, and I knew that we have a lot to learn from the leaf because it was not afraid - it knew that nothing can be born and nothing can die.
Gather my leaves,
Twist them into crowns
Let me be the king of your forest
Climb on my branches,
I will seek out your hide
s you sleep beneath the shade
Of my giving tree
When the beauty and warmth of summer is here,
then dancing leaves with colors are not too far.
Green are the leaves I leave in Mirkwood.
I don't get it. It's a bunch of trees with leaves.
The leaf of every tree brings a message from the unseen world. Look, every falling leaf is a blessing.
A dry maple leaf has come off and is falling to the earth; its movement is exactly like a butterfly's flight. Isn't it strange? Gloom and decay - like brightness and life.
Dull November brings the blast, Then the leaves are whirling fast.
Leaves in every shade of the autumn spectrum - red, yellow, orange, brown - littered the ground at my feet, crunching beneath my boots as I stepped out of the car and looked around.
Autumn afternoon:
a sycamore leaf
falls softly
and rests
on its own shadow
What branch does not have its leaves and which twig will not have its flowers?
(Health 5) Carrot
The tree made it's first move, the first overture of friendship. It allowed a leaf to fall.
I would have offered you a forest of truth, but you wish to speak of a single leaf
Every leaf knows that time is very short. All life must be lived before the autumn comes!
How much intelligence does it take to sneak up on a leaf?
Trees were made of vibrant green leaves sitting on the shoulders of shy green leaves too embarrassed to show themselves.
The birth and death of leaves is part of that greater cycle that moves among the stars.
How fugitive and brief is mortal life between the budding and the falling leaf.
The fallen leaves return to the root.
The first pale blossom of the unripened year.
The stripped and shapely Maple grieves The ghosts of her Departed leaves. The ground is hard, As hard as stone. The year is old, The birds are flown.
A blundering wind scatters yellowed leaves...
How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days.
Around and around the house the leaves fall thick, but never fast, for they come circling down with a dead lightness that is sombre and slow.
So think about the colour of that leaf from the perspective of the leaf itself. What colour it absorbs and what it rejects. Is its colour green? Or is it every single colour in the world, except green?' Shiva
The crimson leaf that blew past looked the twin of the one she'd picked up in the palace courtyard: a bloodied hand.
And the leaves were telling secrets to the wind.
If you were a tree, what kind would you be?
Death, lonely death, Beneath the withered leaves.
The wind fights in the treetops; the leaves move in a hundred dialects of green...
p.17
November's sky is chill and drear, November's leaf is red and sear.
One cannot in the nature of things expect a little tree that has been turned into a club to put forth leaves.
April's air stirs in
Willow-leaves ... a butterfly
Floats and balances
The spreading tree.
A great acacia, with its slender trunk
And overpoise of multitudinous leaves.
(In which a hundred fields might spill their dew
And intense verdure, yet find room enough)
Stood reconciling all the place with green.
The leaves that are green turn to brown. And they wither with the wind. And they crumble in your hand.
Amongst the monsters, I am well hidden; who looks for a leaf in a forest?
Take a deep breath and feel the joy of life. Open your eyes and see the beauty of a dancing leaf.
A sensitive plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan
like leaves to the light,
and closed them beneath the kisses of night.
A fool pulls the leaves. A brute chops the trunk. A sage digs the roots.
Tree limbs rise and fall like the ecstatic arms of those who have submitted to the mystical life. Leaf sounds talk together like poets making fresh metaphors.
It's inescapable: at this very moment, within the synapses of your brain, leaves are fueling thoughts of leaves. A
It is curious that the leaf should so love the light and the root so hate it.
He'd grown unused to woods like this. He'd become accustomed to the Northwest, evergreen and shaded dark. Here he was surrounded by soft leaves, not needles; leaves that carried their deaths secretly inside them, that already heard the whispers of Autumn. Roots and branches that knew things.
Stop concentrating on the leaves concentrate on d root cause where they came from.Curse or bless d cause
Leafless trees stand atop slag heaps like skeleton hands shoved up from the underworld.
October turned my maple's leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers: Soon these will slip from the twigs' weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.
You'd picked me up, so gently, as if I were a leaf you didn't want to crush. You'd carried me somewhere. And I'd curled into your arms, tiny as a stone.
Enormous and solid but swaying, beaten by the wind but chained, murmur of a million leaves against my window. Riot of trees, surge of dark green sounds. The grove, suddenly still, is a web of fronds and branches.
Leaves and bark, leaves and bark,
To lean against and hear in the dark.
Petals I may have once pursued.
Leaves are all my darker mood.
Every blade in the field - Every leaf in the forest - lays down its life in its season as beautifully as it was taken up.
She was a finisher, unlike them -- she didn't wait for leaves to fall and see where they'd land, or even waste time anticipating which way the wind would blow them. No, she was the storm that ripped the leaves from trees and determined their path...
-SHEgo, 2010
The canker which the trunk conceals is revealed by the leaves, the fruit, or the flower.
The journey may be fraught with challenges, yet it continues, for even the smallest leaf must embrace destiny...Persistence is the key...
We all do fade as a leaf.