George Eliot Quotes

Besides the Autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days, A little this side of the snow, And that side of the Haze..., Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind- Thy windy will to bear!

Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place, and I can picture it after all these days.

You like it under the trees in autumn, because everything is half dead. The wind moves like a cripple among the leaves and repeats words without menaing.

Uneasily the leaves fall at this season, forgetting what to do or where to go; the red amnesiacs of autumn drifting thru the graveyard forest. What they have forgotten they have forgotten: what they meant to do instead of fall is not in earth or time recoverable the fossils of intention, the shapes of rot.

Variations: II Green light, from the moon, Pours over the dark blue trees, Green light from the autumn moon Pours on the grass ... Green light falls on the goblin fountain Where hesitant lovers meet and pass. They laugh in the moonlight, touching hands, They move like leaves on the wind ... I remember an autumn night like this, And not so long ago, When other lovers were blown like leaves, Before the coming of snow.

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

It was one of those perfect fall days when the air is cool enough to wake you up but the sun is also kissing your face.

Inside of us, there's a continual autumn. Our leaves fall and are blown out over the water.

When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.

The only authority I respect is the one that causes butterflies to fly south in fall and north in springtime.

He simply felt that if he could carry away the vision of the spot of earth she walked on, and the way the sky and sea enclosed it, the rest of the world might seem less empty.

O, it sets my heart a clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, when the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

I long for the bulbs to arrive, for the early autumn chores are melancholy, but the planting of bulbs is the work of hope and is always thrilling.

Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh.

Fallen leaves lying on the grass in the November sun bring more happiness than the daffodils.

Life is a green madness just now, trying to squeeze the last bit of warmth from the season.

What if the leaves were to fall a-weeping, and say, "It will be so painful for us to be pulled from our stalks, when autumn comes?" Foolish fear! Summer goes, and autumn succeeds. The glory of death is upon the leaves; and the gentlest breeze that blows takes them softly and silently from the bough, and they float slowly down, like fiery sparks, upon the moss.

Spend your brief moment according to nature's law, and serenely greet the journey's end as an olive falls when it is ripe, blessing the branch that bare it, and giving thanks to the tree that gave it life.

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.

This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.

Autumn is the harvest of greedy death.

All the trees are losing their leaves, and not one of them is worried.