Grove Quotes - Page 5

• She talks with a broken heart - Her voice lutes brokenly like a heart lost, musically too, like in a lost grove, it's almost too much to bear sometimes like some fantastic futuristic Jerry Southern singer in a nightclub who steps up to the mike in the spotlight in Las Vegas but doesn't even have to sing, just talk, to make men sigh and women wonder I guess.

  Jack Kerouac

  Heart, Men, Vegas

  Jack Kerouac (2011). “Big Sur”, p.89, Penguin

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• There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
  The earth, and every common sight,
  To me did seem
  Apparelled in celestial light,
  The glory and the freshness of a dream.

  William Wordsworth

  Dream, Light, Sight

  "Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood" l. 1 (1807)

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• When I was ten, my family moved to Downer's Grove, Illinois. When I was twelve, I found them.

  Emo Philips

  Funny, Humor, Illinois

  "E=MO2". Album by Emo Philips, 1985.

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• There is scarcely any writer who has not celebrated the happiness of rural privacy, and delighted himself and his reader with the melody of birds, the whisper of groves, and the murmur of rivulets.

  Samuel Johnson

  Writing, Bird, Privacy

  Samuel Johnson, Elizabeth Carter, Samuel Richardson, Catherine Talbot (1825). “The Rambler: A Periodical Paper, Published in 1750, 1751, 1752”, p.234

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• Anytime the perfume of orange and lemon groves wafts in the window; the human body has to feel suffused with a languorous well-being.

  Frances Mayes

  Orange, Fruit, Body

  Frances Mayes (1999). “Bella Tuscany: The Sweet Life in Italy”, Wheeler Pub Incorporated

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• Most agreeable are the memories of events and labours, connected with the cruise:- of companions in travel, ... of coral islands with their groves, and beautiful life, above and below the waters, ... of lofty precipices, richly draped, even the sternest fronts made to smile and be glad, as delights the gay tropics, and alive with waterfalls, gliding, leaping, or plunging, on their way down from the giddy heights, and, as they go, playing out and in amid the foliage...

  James Dwight Dana

  Beautiful, Nature, Memories

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• Meditation on a passage of scripture... led a young boy into a grove of trees to commune with his heavenly Father. That is what opened the heavens in this dispensation

  Ezra Taft Benson

  Father, Boys, Meditation

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• Gardening is a long road, with many detours and way stations, and here we all are at one point or another. It's not a question of superior or inferior taste, merely a question of which detour we are on at the moment. Getting there (as they say) is not important; the wandering about in the wilderness or in the olive groves or in the bayous is the whole point.

  Henry Mitchell

  Journey, Hiking, Long

  Henry Mitchell (2014). “Henry Mitchell on Gardening”, p.150, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom, Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom, Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows, And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose!

  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  Blow, Blue, Wind

  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Thomas Carlyle (1824). “Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship: A Novel”, p.229

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• Warmest climes but nurse the cruellest fangs: the tiger of Bengal crouches in spiced groves of ceaseless verdure. Skies the most effulgent but basket the deadliest thunders: gorgeous Cuba knows tornadoes that never swept tame northern lands.

  Herman Melville

  Land, Sky, Nurse

  Herman Melville (2008). “Moby-Dick”, p.555, Velvet Element Books

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• When we are alone on a starlit night, when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children.

  Thomas Merton

  Children, Autumn, Night

  Thomas Merton (2007). “New Seeds of Contemplation”, New Directions Publishing

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• Here at great expense,' [Colonel Groves] moaned to Oppenheimer, 'the government has assembled the world's largest collection of crackpots.

  Steve Sheinkin

  Military, Government, World

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• Like Semmering Academy, the Grove School was a Gothic pile of bricks run by 1950s-era chalk drones, which maintained its cultural viability by perpetuating a weirdly seductive anxiety throughout its community. Mary herself was a victim of the seduction; despite the trying and repetitive emotional requirements of her job, she remained eternally fascinated by the wicker-thin girls and their wicker-thin mothers, all of them favoring dark wool skirts and macintoshes and unreadably far-away expressions; if she squinted, they could have emerged intact from any of the last seven decades.

  Heidi Julavits

  Girl, Mother, Running

  Heidi Julavits (2008). “The Uses of Enchantment”, p.14, Anchor

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• There is virtue in country houses, in gardens and orchards, in fields, streams and groves, in rustic recreations and plain manners, that neither cities nor universities enjoy.

  Amos Bronson Alcott

  Country, Garden, Cities

  Amos Bronson Alcott (1868). “Tablets”, p.48

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• I saw them; there is nothing beautiful about them, just that they are a little higher than the others. Referring to one of the oldest and loveliest groves of redwoods, showing insensitivity to their magnificence.

  Ronald Reagan

  Beautiful, Tree, Littles

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• Enormous and solid but swaying, beaten by the wind but chained, murmur of a million leaves against my window. Riot of trees, surge of dark green sounds. The grove, suddenly still, is a web of fronds and branches.

  Octavio Paz

  Dark, Wind, Tree

  Octavio Paz (1979). “A Draft of Shadows, and Other Poems”, p.51, New Directions Publishing

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• In the groves of their academy, at the end of every vista, you see nothing but the gallows.

  Edmund Burke

  Prejudice, Ends, Gallows

  'Reflections on the Revolution in France' (1790) p. 115.

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• Now the bright morning-star, Day's harbinger,
  Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
  The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
  The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
  Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
  Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!
  Woods and groves are of thy dressing;
  Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
  Thus we salute thee with our early song,
  And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

  John Milton

  Song, Morning, Stars

  John Milton (1859). “The poems of John Milton”, p.43

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• A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease. Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings, while incense is ever flowing from the balsam bells and leaves. No wonder the hills and groves were God's first temples, and the more they are cut down and hewn into cathedrals and churches, the farther off and dimmer seems the Lord himself.

  John Muir

  Life, Song, Cutting

  John Muir (2011). “My First Summer in the Sierra: Illustrated Edition”, p.94, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• When we are alone on a starlit night, when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children, when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet, Basho, we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash - at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the "newness," the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, all these provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance.

  Thomas Merton

  Life, Children, Heart

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• The grove is the centre of their whole religion. It is regarded as the cradle of the race and the dwelling-place of the supreme god to whom all things are subject and obedient.

  Tacitus

  Dwelling, Race, Tree

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• Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgandy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries.

  Jack Kerouac

  Sunset, Color, Purple

  Jack Kerouac (1957). “On the Road”, Viking Press

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• I have dwelt ever in realms apart from the visible world; spending my youth and adolescence in ancient and little-known books, and in roaming the fields and groves of the region near my ancestral home. I do not think that what I read in these books or saw in these fields and groves was exactly what other boys read and saw there; but of this I must say little, since detailed speech would but confirm those cruel slanders upon my intellect which I sometimes overhear from the whispers of the stealthy attendants around me.

  H. P. Lovecraft

  Book, Home, Boys

  H.P. Lovecraft (2011). “The Road to Madness”, p.84, Del Rey

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• When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud And goes down burning into the gulf below, No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud At what has happened. Birds, at least must know It is the change to darkness in the sky. Murmuring something quiet in her breast, One bird begins to close a faded eye; Or overtaken too far from his nest, Hurrying low above the grove, some waif Swoops just in time to his remembered tree. At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe! Now let the night be dark for all of me. Let the night be too dark for me to see Into the future. Let what will be, be.

  Robert Frost

  Eye, Dark, Night

  Robert Frost (1949). “Complete Poems of Robert Frost: 1949”, New York : H. Holt

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• If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it. I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and its head bent low with patience. The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky. Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds' nests, and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.

  Rabindranath Tagore

  Song, Morning, Flower

  Rabindranath Tagore (2013). “Gitanjali - Song Offerings”, p.19, Read Books Ltd

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