Autumn Season Quotes

To me a book is a message from the gods to mankind; or, if not, should never be published at all. A message from the gods should be delivered at once. It is damnably blasphemous to talk about the autumn season and so on. How dare the author or publisher demand a price for doing his duty, the highest and most honorable to which a man can be called?

The Autumn is old; The sere leaves are flying; He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying;- Old age, begin sighing!

There ought to be gardens for all months in the year, in which, severally, things of beauty may be then in season.

After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things. It is as if We had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.

The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.

Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.

Sing a song of seasons; something bright in all, flowers in the summer, fires in the fall.

In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfies See the smoke trail! Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes, the grey smoke towers. Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all, Flowers in the summer Fires in the fall!

Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.

Gardening imparts an organic perspective on the passage of time.

The autumn always gets me badly, as it breaks into colours. I want to go south, where there is no autumn, where the cold doesn't crouch over one like a snow-leopard waiting to pounce.

The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown; The berry's cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.

Then summer fades and passes and October comes. We'll smell smoke then, and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure.

Our judgment ripens; our imagination decays. We cannot at once enjoy the flowers of the Spring of life and the fruits of its Autumn.

The tints of autumn...a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.

I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.

Autumn arrives in the early morning.

I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.

I loved autumn, the one season of the year that God seemed to have put there just for the beauty of it.

Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they're falling like they're falling in love with the ground.

I cannot endure to waste anything as precious as autumn sunshine by staying in the house. So I spend almost all the daylight hours in the open air.

Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through the mountains, a torch flung to the trees.

For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.

Autumn in New York, why does it seem so inviting?

Of all the seasons, autumn offers the most to man and requires the least of him.

Love the trees until their leaves fall off, then encourage them to try again next year.

Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.

You ought to know that October is the first Spring month.

Nature is, above all, profligate. Don't believe them when they tell you how economical and thrifty nature is, whose leaves return to the soil. Wouldn't it be cheaper to leave them on the tree in the first place? This deciduous business alone is a radical scheme, the brainchild of a deranged manic-depressive with limitless capital. Extravagance! Nature will try anything once.

Autumn is a season followed immediately by looking forward to spring.

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe; And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun.

Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.

Youth is like spring, an over praised season more remarkable for biting winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.

Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.

The season for enjoying the fullness of life - partaking of the harvest, sharing the harvest with others, and reinvesting and saving portions of the harvest for yet another season of growth.

Change is a measure of time and, in the autumn, time seems speeded up. What was is not and never again will be; what is is change.

There is a harmony In autumn, and a luster in its sky...

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.

There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!

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.

Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn-that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness-that season which has drawn from every poet worthy of being read some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling.

Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring.

Unless a tree has borne blossoms in spring, you will vainly look for fruit on it in autumn.

Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.

It was one of those perfect New York October afternoons, when the explosion of oranges and yellows against the bright blue sky makes you feel like your life is passing through your fingers, that you've felt this autumn-feeling before and you'll probably get to feel it again, but one day you won't anymore, because you'll be dead.

A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.