Grass Quotes - Page 32

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

  Andrew Marvell

  Country, War, Fall

  Andrew Marvell, Nigel Smith (2007). “The Poems of Andrew Marvell”, p.142, Pearson Education

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• Beautiful rocks - beautiful grass Beautiful soil where they both combine Beautiful river - covering sky Never thought of possession, but all this was mine.

  Bruce Cockburn

  Beautiful, Rocks, Sky

  Song: A Dream Like Mine

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• The best treatment for feet encased in shoes all day is to go barefoot. One-fifth of the world's population never wears shoes - ever! But when people who usually go barefoot usually wear shoes, their feet begin to suffer. As often as possible, walk barefoot on the beach, in your yard, or at least around the house. Walking in the grass or sand massages your feet, strengthens your muscles and feels very relaxing...If you can cut back on wearing shoes by 30 percent, you will save wear and tear on your feet and extend the life of your shoes.

  Stephanie Tourles

  Beach, Cutting, Journey

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• Before this ugly edifice, and between it and the wheel-track of the street, was a grass-plot, much overgrown with burdock, pig-weed, apple-pern, and such unsightly vegetation, which evidently found something congenial in the soil that had so early borne the black flower of civilized society, a prison.

  Nathaniel Hawthorne

  Weed, Flower, Pigs

  Nathaniel Hawthorne (1935). “The Scarlet Letter (Sparklesoup Classics)”, p.24, Sparklesoup LLC

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• The sun is a huntress young,
  The sun is a red, red joy,
  The sun is an Indian girl,
  Of the tribe of the Illinois.
  The sun is a smouldering fire,
  That creeps through the high gray plain,
  And leaves not a bush of cloud
  To blossom with flowers of rain.
  The sun is a wounded deer,
  That treads pale grass in the skies,
  Shaking his golden horns,
  Flashing his baleful eyes.
  The sun is an eagle old,
  There in the windless west.
  Atop of the spirit-cliffs
  He builds him a crimson nest.

  Vachel Lindsay

  Girl, Rain, Flower

  Vachel Lindsay (1992). “The Congo and Other Poems”, p.39, Courier Corporation

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• In this light, my spirit saw through all things and into all creatures and I recognized God in grass and plants.

  Jakob Bohme

  Garden, Light, Religion

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• Tradition is like the tether which prevents an animal from getting a blade of grass beyond the length of that tether

  E. W. Bullinger

  Animal, Tradition, Blades

  E. W. Bullinger “Commentary on Revelation”, Kregel Publications

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• It is not easy for a man to be as great as a mountain or a forest. But that is why the creator gave them to us as teachers. Now that I am old I Iook once more toward them for lessons, instead of trying to understand the ways of men. They tell me to be patient. They tell me I cannot change what is, I can only hope to change what will become. Let the grasses grow over our scars, they say, and let flowers bloom over our wounds.

  Kent Nerburn

  Change, Teacher, Flower

  Kent Nerburn (2010). “Neither Wolf nor Dog: On Forgotten Roads with an Indian Elder”, p.25, New World Library

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• When we are constantly recreating our basic patterns of behavior and thought, we never have to leap into fresh air or onto fresh grass. Instead, we wrap ourselves in our own dark environment, where our only companion is the smell of our own sweat. In the cocoon, there is no dance, no walking or breathing. It is comfortable and sleepy, an intense and very familiar home.

  Chogyam Trungpa

  Change, Home, Dark

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• There are no days in the whole round year more delicious than those which often come to us in the latter half of April... The sun trembles in his own soft rays... The grass in the meadow seems all to have grown green since yesterday.

  Thomas Wentworth Higginson

  Spring, Flower, Years

  "In a Fair Country".

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• In this light my spirit suddenly saw through all, and in and by all creatures, even in herbs and grass it knew God, who he is, and how he is, and what his will is: And suddenly in that light my will was set on by a mighty impulse, to describe the being of God.

  Jakob Bohme

  Light, Saws, Herbs

  Basarab Nicolescu, Jakob Böhme (1991). “Science, Meaning, & Evolution: The Cosmology of Jacob Boehme”

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• Downtime is where we become ourselves, looking into the middle distance, kicking at the curb, lying on the grass or sitting on the stoop and staring at the tedious blue of the summer sky. I don't believe you can write poetry, or compose music, or become an actor without downtime, and plenty of it, a hiatus that passes for boredom but is really the quiet moving of the wheels inside that fuel creativity.

  Anna Quindlen

  Summer, Distance, Lying

  Anna Quindlen (2004). “Loud and Clear”, p.25, Random House

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• Oh, my fellow men, do not defile your bodies with sinful foods. We have corn, we have apples bending down the branches with their weight, and grapes swelling on the vines. There are sweet-flavored herbs, and vegetables which can be cooked and softened over the fire, nor are you denied milk or thyme-scented honey. The earth affords a lavish supply of riches, of innocent foods, and offers you banquets that involve no bloodshed or slaughter; only beasts satisfy their hunger with flesh, and not even all of those, because horses, cattle, and sheep live on grass.

  Pythagoras

  Sweet, Horse, Men

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• There was no more grass, no flowers, not even any moss: dusty granite blocks covered the ice and an occasional grinding groan reminded us that we were on a slow-moving glacier.

  Chris Bonington

  Nature, Travel, Block

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• Candleford Green was but a small village and there were fields and meadows and woods all around it. As soon as Laura crossed the doorstep, she could see some of these. But mere seeing from a distance did not satisfy her; she longed to go alone far into the fields and hear the birds singing, the brooks tinkling, and the wind rustling through the corn, as she had when a child. To smell things and touch things, warm earth and flowers and grasses, and to stand and gaze where no one could see her, drinking it all in.

  Flora Thompson

  Children, Distance, Drinking

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• Never had the sky been more studded with stars and more charming, the trees more trembling, the odor of the grass more penetrating; never had the birds fallen asleep among the leaves with a sweeter noise; never had all the harmonies of universal serenity responded more thoroughly to the inward music of love; never had Marius been more captivated, more happy, more ecstatic.

  Victor Hugo

  Stars, Sky, Bird

  Victor Hugo (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Victor Hugo (Illustrated)”, p.3116, Delphi Classics

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• Jacob wrote that the true poet 'is like a man who is happy anywhere, in endless measure, if he is allowed to look at leaves and grass, to see the sun rise and set. The false poet travels abroad in strange countries and hopes to be uplifted by the mountains of Switzerland, the sky and sea of Italy. He comes to them and is dissatisfied. He is not as happy as the man who stays at home and sees the apple trees flower in spring, and hears the small birds singing among the branches

  Jacob Grimm

  Country, Spring, Flower

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• My birthplace was California, but I couldn't forget Armenia, so what is one's country? Is it land of the earth, in a specific place? Rivers there? Lakes? The sky there? The way the moon comes up there? And the sun? Is one's country the trees, the vineyards, the grass, the birds, the rocks, the hills and summer and winter? Is it the animal rhythm of the living there? The huts and houses, the streets of cities, the tables and chairs, and the drinking of tea and talking? Is it the peach ripening in summer heat on the bough? Is it the dead in the earth there?

  William Saroyan

  Summer, Country, Drinking

  "Antranik and the Spirit of Armenia" by William Saroyan, 1936.

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• For hours she had lain in a kind of gentle torpor, not unlike that sweet lassitude which masters one in the hush of a midsummer noon, when the heat seems to have silenced the very birds and insects, and, lying sunk in the tasselled meadow grasses, one looks up through a level roofing of maple-leaves at the vast, shadowless, and unsuggestive blue.

  Edith Wharton

  Sweet, Lying, Blue

  Edith Wharton (2001). “Early Short Fiction”, p.50, Electric Book Company

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• The dawn came - not the flaming sky that promises storm, but a golden dawn of infinite promise. The birds came flying up out of the east in wedge-shaped formation, and the mist lifted in soft wreaths of sun-shot silver. Colour came back to the world. The grass glowed with a green so vivid that it seemed pulsing, like flame, from some hidden fire in the earth, the distant woods took on all the amazing deep crimsons and purples of their winter colouring, the banks were studded with their jewels of lichens and bright moss, and above the wet hedges shone with sun-shot orbs of light.

  Elizabeth Goudge

  Winter, Fire, Light

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• Mr. Jamrach led me through the lobby and into the menagerie. The first was a parrot room, a fearsome screaming place of mad round eyes, crimson breasts that beat against bars, wings that flapped against their neighbours, blood red, royal blue, gypsy yellow, grass green. The birds were crammed along perches. Macaws hung upside down here and there, batting their white eyes, and small green parrots flittered above our heads in drifts. A hot of cockatoos looked down from on high over the shrill madness, high crested, creamy breasted. The screeching was like laughter in hell.

  Carol Birch

  Laughter, Eye, Yellow

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• Once I spent a whole day there, a blade of grass in each hand to anchor me to the warm earth. I watched the sun rise, pass over my head and set. Ladybirds mated on my knuckle; a shrew nibbled a hole in my stocking while I tried not to laugh. Such a day was worth any punishment.

  Emma Donoghue

  Hands, Anchors, Punishment

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• Water, wind and birdsong were the echoes in this quiet place of a great chiming symphony that was surging around the world. Knee-deep in grasses and moon daisies, Stella stood and listened, swaying a little as the flowers and trees were swaying, her spirit voice singing loudly, though her lips were still, and every pulse in her body beating its hammer strokes in time to the song.

  Elizabeth Goudge

  Song, Flower, Moon

  Elizabeth Goudge (1949). “Gentian Hill”

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• When mother-cow is chewing grass its young ones watch its mouth

  Chinua Achebe

  Mother, Watches, Mouths

  Chinua Achebe (2009). “Things Fall Apart: Authoritative Text, Contexts and Criticism”, W W Norton & Company Incorporated

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• We will burn the old grass and the new will grow.

  Pol Pot

  Pot, Grows

  c.1975 Quoted in John Pilger DistantVoices (1992), section 5.

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