D. H. Lawrence Quotes

When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.

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

There are only two seasons - winter and Baseball.

Alas, summer sun can't last forever. The days will grow cooler and shorter, and our skin will once again pale.

I love feeling the crispness of fall and the sensuality of spring.

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.

But you can't plead with autumn. No. The midnight wind stalked through the woods, hooted to frighten you, swept everything away for the approaching winter, whirled the leaves. ("The North")

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

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

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou build thy dark, Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.

The year's in wane; There is nothing adorning; The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning!

And close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood. And close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood.

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

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!

When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.

The falling leaves drift by the window The autumn leaves of red and gold.... I see your lips, the summer kisses The sunburned hands, I used to hold Since you went away, the days grow long And soon I'll hear ol' winter's song. But I miss you most of all my darling, When autumn leaves start to fall.

When she sees the leaves fall, they raise no other idea in her mind than that winter is approaching.

It's cold and it's winter and the world has gone to sleep

I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.

Swinging on delicate hinges the autumn leaf almost off the stem.

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods, And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt, And night by night the monitory blast Wails in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes, Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods Than any joy indulgent Summer dealt.

Ye country comets, that portend No war, nor prince's funeral, Shining unto no higher end Than to presage the grasses fall. . . .