Monty Don Quotes

I love the fall. I love it because of the smells that you speak of; and also because things are dying, things that you don't have to take care of anymore, and the grass stops growing.

Autumn truly is what summer pretends to be: the best of all seasons. It is as glorious as summer is tedious; as subtle as summer is obvious; as refreshing as summer is wearying. Autumn seems like paradise.

It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves.

Upstate New York in the middle of October. You can't get more beautiful than that.

There is a time in the last few days of summer when the ripeness of autumn fills the air.

A strangely reflective, even melancholy day. Is that because, unlike our cousins in the northern hemisphere, Easter is not associated with the energy and vitality of spring but with the more subdued spirit of autumn?

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down.

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.

There is one thing I do miss in L.A. I love autumn.

Halloween simply has a special feel about it. School is back, everyone is settled into their routines following summer, and there is pumpkin spice everywhere.

Behold congenial Autumn comes, the Sabbath of the Year.

Fall has always been my favorite season. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.

Autumn that year painted the countryside in vivid shades of scarlet, saffron and russet, and the days were clear and crisp under harvest skies.

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

Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.

Autumn is really the best of the seasons; and I'm not sure that old age isn't the best part of life.

In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October.

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

I like autumn. The drama of it; the golden lion roaring through the back door of the year, shaking its mane of leaves. A dangerous time; of violent rages and deceptive calm, of fireworks in the pockets and conkers in the fist.

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

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