Dinah Maria Mulock Quotes

Behold congenial Autumn comes, the Sabbath of the Year.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

What does autumn go on paying for with so much yellow money?

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.

Autumn, in his leafless bowers, is waiting for the winter's snow.

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.

For the Fall of the year is more than three months bounded by an equinox and a solstice. It is a summing up without the finality of year's end.

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it.

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

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

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

I love the chill October days, when the brown leaves lie thick and sodden underneath your feet ... the evenings in late autumn time, when the white mist creeps across the fields, making it seem as though old Earth, feeling the night air cold to its poor bones, were drawing ghostly bedclothes round its withered limbs.

Autumn arrives in the early morning.

There is no better time than the autumn to begin forgetting the things that trouble us, allowing them to fall away like dried leaves. There is no better time to dance again, to make the most of every crumb of sunlight and warm body and soul with its rays before it falls asleep and becomes only a dim light bulb in the skies.

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.

Through the dripping weeks that follow One another slow, and soak Summer's extinguished fire and autumn's drifting smoke.

Suddenly it was fall, the season of death, the anniversary of things-going-to-hell.

Autumn is as joyful and sweet as an untimely end.

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