Grass Quotes - Page 39

• There is a place where the sidewalk ends, And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind.

  Shel Silverstein

  Moon, Wind, White

  Shel Silverstein, “Where The Sidewalk Ends”

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• The monstropolous beast had left his bed. The two hundred miles a hour wind had loosed his chains. He seized hold of his dikes and ran forward until he met the quarters; uprooted them like grass and rushed on after his supposed-to-be conquerors, rolling the dikes, rolling the houses, rolling the people in the houses along with other timbers. The sea was walking the earth with a heavy heel.

  Zora Neale Hurston

  Wind, Sea, Two

  Zora Neale Hurston (1995). “Zora Neale Hurston: Novels and Stories: Jonah's Gourd Vine / Their Eyes Were Watching God / Moses, Man of the Mountain / Seraph on the Suwanee / Selected Stories”

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• She tells her love while half asleep, In the dark hours, With half-words whispered low: As Earth stirs in her winter sleep And puts out grass and flowers Despite the snow, Despite the falling snow.

  Robert Graves

  Flower, Fall, Sleep

  Robert Graves (1986). “Selected poems”

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• The front door flew open, and Mary shot out of the house, jumping off the porch, not even bothering with the steps to the ground. She ran over the frost-laden grass in her bare feet and threw herself at him, grabbing on to his neck with both arms. She held him so tightly his spine cracked. She was sobbing. Bawling. Crying so hard her whole body was shaking. He didn't ask any questions, just wrapped himself around her. I'm not okay," she said hoarsely between breaths. "Rhage...I'm not okay.

  J.R. Ward

  Feet, Jumping, Doors

  J.R. Ward (2008). “The Black Dagger Brotherhood: An Insider's Guide”, p.120, Penguin

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• What idiocy, to racing into this story and its labyrinths, sprinting away from our happiness among the fresh spring grasses by the oak.

  Ian Mcewan

  Spring, Racing, Labyrinth

  Ian McEwan (2010). “Enduring Love”, p.1, Random House

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• The Santa Anas blew in hot from the desert, shriveling the last of the spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. Only the oleanders thrived, their delicate poisonous blooms, their dagger green leaves. We could not sleep in the hot dry nights, my mother and I.

  Janet Fitch

  Mother, Spring, Sleep

  Janet Fitch (2013). “White Oleander”, p.7, Hachette UK

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• No single man makes history. History cannot be seen, just as one cannot see grass growing. Wars and revolutions, kings and Robespierres, are history's organic agents, its yeast. But revolutions are made by fanatical men of action with one-track mind, geniuses in their ability to confine themselves to a limited field. They overturn the old order in a few hours or days, the whole upheaval takes a few weeks or at most years, but the fanatical spirit that inspired the upheavals is worshiped for decades thereafter, for centuries.

  Boris Pasternak

  Kings, War, Men

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• Without thinking, I knelt in the grass, like someone meaning to pray. When I tried to stand again, I couldn't move, my legs were utterly rigid. Does grief change you like that? Through the birches, I could see the pond. The sun was cutting small white holes in the water. I got up finally; I walked down to the pond. I stood there, brushing the grass from my skirt, watching myself, like a girl after her first lover turning slowly at the bathroom mirror, naked, looking for a sign. But nakedness in women is always a pose. I was not transfigured. I would never be free.

  Louise Glück

  Girl, Grief, Moving

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• If you have your attention on what is see its fullness in every moment you will discover the dance of the divine in every leaf in every petal in every blade of grass in every rainbow in every rushing stream in every breath of every living being. ...beyond memory and judgement lies the ocean of universal consciousness.

  Deepak Chopra

  Spiritual, Memories, Lying

  Deepak Chopra (1996). “The Return of Merlin”, Wheeler Pub Incorporated

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• And that was as far as he got before i heard it. The thumping of footsteps, running up the lawn toward me: It seemed like I could hear it through the grass, like leaning your ear to a railroad track and feeling the train coming, miles away. As the noise got closer I could hear ragged breaths, and then a voice. It was my mother.

  Sarah Dessen

  Mother, Running, Voice

  Sarah Dessen (2004). “Dreamland”, p.216, Penguin

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• Everything we knew condemned us, and our questioning condemned us most of all. Knowledge was the way of our people, and knowledge was dangerous. It was the first thing that freed you and the thing that put you in peril. It was the key to the ten gates. I saw them clearly now, each and every one, the gates that were there for me. Ashes, Bones, Grass, Heart, Stone, Love, Sorrow, Blood, Earth, Sky.

  Alice Hoffman

  Heart, Keys, Blood

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• Her voice, high and clear, moved through the leaves, through the sunlight. It splashed onto the gravel, the grass. He imagined the notes falling into the air like stones into water, rippling the invisible surface of the world. Waves of sound, waves of light: his father had tried to pin everything down, but the world was fluid and could not be contained.

  Kim Edwards

  Father, Fall, Light

  Kim Edwards (2006). “The Memory Keeper's Daughter: A Novel”, p.401, Penguin

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• How do you caution a fawn about a cigarette a motorist has just flipped from his car window into a patch of yellow grass, or tell a sparrow that winged creatures eventually plummet to earth?

  James Lee Burke

  Yellow, Car, Earth

  James Lee Burke (2011). “A Billy Bob and Hackberry Holland Ebook Boxed Set: In the Moon of Red Ponies, Rain Gods, Excerpt from Feast Day of Fools”, p.271, Simon and Schuster

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• There is no dusk to be, There is no dawn that was, Only there's now, and now, And the wind in the grass.

  Archibald MacLeish

  Wind, Dawn, Dusk

  Archibald MacLeish (1985). “Collected Poems, 1917-1982”, p.41, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Sudden Light I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the light around the shore.

  Dante Gabriel Rossetti

  Sweet, Light, Doors

  'Sudden Light'

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• A narrow pond would form in the orchard, water clear as air covering grass and black leaves and fallen branches, all around it black leaves and drenched grass and fallen branches, and on it, slight as an image in an eye, sky, clouds, trees, our hovering faces and our cold hands.

  Marilynne Robinson

  Eye, Clouds, Air

  Marilynne Robinson (2004). “Housekeeping: A Novel”, p.5, Macmillan

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• There are songs that come free from the blue-eyed grass, from the dust of a thousand country roads. This is one of them.

  Robert James Waller

  Country, Song, Blue

  Robert James Waller (2013). “The Bridges Of Madison County”, p.7, Random House

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• Hooves clomping over the whitewashed planks, Doren sprinted along the boardwalk after Rondus, a portly satyr with butterscotch fur and horns that curved away from each other. Puffing hard, Rondus cut through a gazebo and started down the stairs to the field. Only a few steps behind, Doren went airborne and slammed into the heavyset satyr. Together they pitched violently forward into the grass, staining their skin green.

  Brandon Mull

  Cutting, Skins, Together

  Brandon Mull, Brandon Dorman (2009). “Grip of the Shadow Plague”, p.364, Simon and Schuster

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• The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives

  Anne Sexton

  Wonder, Break, Stout

  Anne Sexton, Diane Wood Middlebrook, Diana Hume George (2000). “Selected Poems of Anne Sexton”, p.56, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• There, in the center of that silence was not eternity but the death of time and a loneliness so profound the word itself had no meaning. For loneliness assumed the absence of other people, and the solitude she found in that desperate terrain had never admitted the possibility of other people. She wept then. Tears for the deaths of the littlest things: the castaway shoes of children; broken stems of marsh grass battered and drowned by the sea; prom photographs of dead women she never knew; wedding rings in pawnshop windows; the tiny bodies of Cornish hens in a nest of rice.

  Toni Morrison

  Children, Loneliness, Sea

  Toni Morrison (1987). “Sula”

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• The King beneath the mountains, The King of carven stone, The lord of silver fountains Shall come into his own! His crown shall be upholden, His harp shall be restrung, His halls shall echo golden To songs of yore re-sung. The woods shall wave on mountains. And grass beneath the sun; His wealth shall flow in fountains And the rivers golden run. The streams shall run in gladness, The lakes shall shine and burn, And sorrow fail and sadness At the Mountain-king’s return!

  J. R. R. Tolkien

  Running, Song, Kings

  J. R. R. Tolkien, “The King”

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• The dragon is withered, His bones are now crumbled; His armour is shivered, His splendour is humbled! Though sword shall be rusted, And throne and crown perish With strength that men trusted And wealth that they cherish, Here grass is still growing, And leaves are yet swinging, The white water flowing, And elves are yet singing Come! Tra-la-la-lally! Come back to the valley!

  J. R. R. Tolkien

  Men, Dragons, White

  J.R.R. Tolkien (2012). “The Hobbit”, p.120, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Wake up now, look alive, for here is a day off work just to praise Creation: the turkey, the squash, and the corn, these things that ate and drank sunshine, grass, mud, and rain, and then in the shortening days laid down their lives for our welfare and onward resolve. There's the miracle for you, the absolute sacrifice that still holds back seed: a germ of promise to do the whole thing again, another time. . . Thanksgiving is Creation's birthday party. Praise harvest, a pause and sigh on the breath of immortality.

  Barbara Kingsolver

  Party, Rain, Sunshine

  Barbara Kingsolver (2010). “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: Our Year of Seasonal Eating”, p.284, Faber & Faber

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• Love dies in many different ways, and it's natural for the grass to seem greener on the other side. But it's not a competition; there's plenty of pain to go around.

  Rob Sheffield

  Pain, Competition, Different

  Rob Sheffield (2007). “Love is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time”, Crown

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• Lady Katsa, is it?" "Yes, Lord Prince." "I've heard you have one eye green as the Middluns grasses, and the other eye blue as the sky." "Yes, Lord Prince." "I've heard you can kill a man with the nail of your smallest finger." She smiled. "Yes, Lord Prince." "Does it make it easier?" "I don't understand you." "To have beautiful eyes. Does it lighten the burden of your Grace, to know you have beautiful eyes?

  Kristin Cashore

  Beautiful, Eye, Men

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