Grass Quotes - Page 21

• I like to think how easily Nature will absorb London as she absorbed the mastodon, setting her spiders to spin the winding-sheet and her worms to fill in the grave, and her grass to cover it pitifully up, adding flowers - as an unknown hand added them to the grave of Nero.

  Edward Thomas

  Flower, Thinking, Hands

  Thomas, Edward (2014). “The South Country”, p.80, Read Books Ltd

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• Street politics is what happens in our everyday life, living in the bando. It's the environment around us and what we doing in the streets. We [Migos] talking about how many snakes there are in the grass and talking about how people can hurt you, and talking about how that can help you gain knowledge.

  Quavo

  Hurt, Talking, Snakes

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• In the world's audience hall, the simple blade of grass sits on the same carpet with the sunbeams, and the stars of midnight.

  Rabindranath Tagore

  Nature, Stars, Simple

  Rabindranath Tagore (2004). “Tagore”, p.44, SkyLight Paths Publishing

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• I've got evil in me as much as anyone, some desires that scare me. Even if I don't give in to them, just having them scares the living bejesus out of me sometimes. I'm no saint, the way you kid about. But I've always walked the line, walked that goddamned line. It's a mean mother of a line, straight and narrow, sharp as a razor, cuts right into you when you walk it long enough. You're always bleeding on that line, and sometimes you wonder why you don't just step off and walk in the cool grass.

  Dean Koontz

  Mother, Mean, Kids

  Dean Koontz (2007). “Dark Rivers of the Heart: A Novel”, p.407, Bantam

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• It's lovely having grass and trees and flowers(Of course, at times, mosquitoes are a pest).Yes, life is life out here in Rangely Towers(Of course Some People like the city best)!

  Arthur Guiterman

  Flower, Cities, People

  Arthur Guiterman, “Our Suburb”

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• I hate my verses, every line, every word. Oh pale and brittle pencils ever to try One grass-blade's curve, or the throat of one bird That clings to twig, ruffled against white sky. Oh cracked and twilight mirrors ever to catch One color, one glinting flash, of the splendor of things.

  Robinson Jeffers

  Hate, Twilight, Curves

  Robinson Jeffers, Tim Hunt (1988). “The Collected Poetry of Robinson Jeffers: 1928-1938”, p.410, Stanford University Press

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• Like water spilt upon the ground--alas, Our little lives flow swiftly on and pass; Yet may they bring rich harvests and green grass!

  Henry Van Dyke

  Life, Water, May

  Henry Van Dyke (1920). “The Poems of Henry Van Dyke”

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• O sweet clean earth, from whom the green blade cometh! When we are dead, my best beloved and I, close well above us, that we may rest forever, sending up grass and blossoms to the sky.

  Conrad Aiken

  Sweet, Sky, Forever

  Conrad Potter Aiken, “Discordants”

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• Summer — summer — summer! The soundless footsteps on the grass!

  John Galsworthy

  Summer, Footsteps

  John Galsworthy (2016). “The Forsythe Saga”, p.338, Xist Publishing

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• The cowboy doesn't need an iron horse, but covers his country on one that eats grass and wears hair.

  Charles Marion Russell

  Country, Horse, Cowboy

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• Women like poetry. A soft word in their ears and they melt - a grease spot on the grass.

  Mary Ann Shaffer

  Grease, Ears, Spots

  Mary Ann Shaffer, Annie Barrows (2009). “The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society”, p.61, A&C Black

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• My words are little jars For you to take and put upon a shelf. Their shapes are quaint and beautiful, And they have many pleasant colours and lustres To recommend them. Also the scent from them fills the room With sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses.

  Amy Lowell

  Beautiful, Flower, Scent

  Amy Lowell (2009). “Sword Blades and Poppy Seed”, p.57, ReadHowYouWant.com

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• Things don't have purposes, as if the universe were a machine, where every part has a useful function. What's the function of a galaxy? I don't know if our life has a purpose and I don't see that it matters. What does matter is that we're a part. Like a thread in a cloth or a grass-blade in a field. It is and we are. What we do is like wind blowing on the grass.

  Ursula K. Le Guin

  Wind Blowing, Matter, Fields

  "The Lathe of Heaven". Book by Ursula K. Le Guin, 1971.

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• There is melancholy in the wind and sorrow in the grass

  Charles Kuralt

  Wind, Sorrow, Melancholy

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• I shall not rest quiet in Montparnasse.
  I shall not lie easy at Winchelsea.
  You may bury my body in Sussex grass,
  You may bury my tongue at Champmedy.
  I shall not be there. I shall rise and pass.
  Bury my heart at Wounded Knee

  Stephen Vincent Benet

  Lying, Heart, Body

  "American Names" l. 30 (1927)

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• We can better see what we don't have. The other man's grass is always greener and now we can actually go and visit his grass much more and feel the absence of green in our own lives.

  Pico Iyer

  Men, Green, Absence

  Source: scottlondon.com

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• Fellow from Texas can tell the difference between grass-roots and AstroTurf.

  Lloyd Bentsen

  Texas, Roots, Differences

  "Astroturf Lobbying Organizations: Do Fake Grassroots Need Real Regulation" by Henry Young, "Illinois Business Law Journal", November 2, 2009.

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• The little boy had wandered away from his mother, tacking across the grass toward the play structure. His mother watched him go, proud, tickled, unaware that every time they toddled away from you, they came back a little different, ten seconds older and nearer to the day when they left you for good. Pearl divers in training, staying under a few seconds longer every time.

  Michael Chabon

  Life, Mother, Boys

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• My young men shall never work, men who work cannot dream; and wisdom comes to us in dreams. You ask me to plow the ground. Shall I take a knife and tear my mothers breast? Then when I die she will not take me to her bosom to rest. You ask me to dig for stone. Shall I dig under her skin for her bones? Then when I die I cannot enter her body to be born again. You ask me to cut grass and make hay and sell it and be rich like white men. But how dare I cut off my mother's hair.

  Smohalla

  Dream, Mother, Native American

  "Wisdom of the North American Indian in speech and legend". Book by Alexander Francis Chamberlain, 1913.

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• The sensation of writing a book is the sensation of spinning, blinded by love and daring. It is the sensation of rearing and peering from the bent tip of a grass blade, looking for a route.

  Janet Burroway

  Book, Writing, Spinning

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• I continued to do arithmetic with my father, passing proudly through fractions to decimals. I eventually arrived at the point where so many cows ate so much grass, and tanks filled with water in so many hours. I found it quite enthralling.

  Agatha Christie

  Education, Father, Math

  Agatha Christie (1991). “Agatha Christie: An Autobiography”, Berkley Publishing Group

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• Look, lovers: almost separately they come towards us through the flowery grass and slowly; parting's so far from thought of, they indulge the extravagance of walking unembraced.

  Rainer Maria Rilke

  Looks, Extravagance, Lovers

  Rainer Maria Rilke (1976). “Poems, 1906 to 1926”

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• Passion is lifted from the earth itself by the muddy hands of the young; it travels along grass-stained sleeves to the heart. If we are going to save environmentalism and the environment, we must also save an endangered indicator species: the child in nature.

  Richard Louv

  Nature, Children, Passion

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• When we complain of having to do the same thing over and over, let us remember that God does not send new trees, strange flowers and different grasses every year. When the spring winds blow, they blow in the same way. In the same places the same dear blossoms lift up the same sweet faces, yet they never weary us. When it rains, it rains as it always has. Even so would the same tasks which fill our daily lives put on new meanings if we wrought them in the spirit of renewal from within--a spirit of growth and beauty.

  Helen Keller

  Sweet, Spring, Rain

  Helen Keller (2000). “To Love this Life: Quotations”, p.19, American Foundation for the Blind

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• Humans are animals and like all animals we leave tracks as we walk: signs of passage made in snow, sand, mud, grass, dew, earth or moss.... We easily forget that we are track-markers, through, because most of our journeys now occur on asphalt and concrete--and these are substances not easily impressed.

  Robert Macfarlane

  Animal, Journey, Snow

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