A Quote by John J. Geddes

Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night. — © John J. Geddes
Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night.
You know what I love the smell of? Christmas trees and pine. I always have a pine candle even if it's not Christmas.
A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and flagrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway.
The ideal job letter starts with a brilliant light. Then we realize that this brilliant light is actually sunlight, shafts of it, pouring through trees onto a thick bed of pine needles. Soft dusty resin floats in the sun shafts, invitingly. The smell of pine and sap rises from the forest floor. A twig snaps underfoot.
And the needles of the pine trees, freshly washed to a deep, rich green, shimmered with droplets that blinked like clear crystals.
The leaves of these [larch] trees are like those of the pine; timber from them comes in long lengths, is as easily wrought in joiner's work as is the clearwood of fir, and contains a liquid resin, of the color of Attic honey, which is good for consumptives.
One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow
Christmas can be celebrated in the school room with pine trees, tinsel and reindeers, but there must be no mention of the man whose birthday is being celebrated. One wonders how a teacher would answer if a student asked why it was called Christmas.
Christmas crept into Pine Cove like a creeping Christmas thing: dragging garland, ribbon, and sleigh bells, oozing eggnog, reeking of pine, and threatening festive doom like a cold sore under the mistletoe.
Trees are our closest relatives. What trees exhale, we inhale; what we exhale, they inhale. They are half our respiratory system.
Pine trees with low limbs spread over fresh snow made a stronger vault for the spirit than pews and pulpits ever could.
There is a higher law affecting our relation to pines as well as to men. A pine cut down, a dead pine, is no more a pine than a dead human carcass is a man.
In pranayama you don't worry about taking breaths, you focus on exhalation. If you exhale properly you will inhale. The more deeply you exhale the more deeply you will inhale.
Advice is like snow - the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper in sinks into the mind. Samuel Taylor Coleridge Snow falling soundlessly in the middle of the night will always fill my heart with sweet clarity.
Life has loveliness to sell, / Music like a curve of gold, / Scent of pine trees in the rain, / Eyes that love you, arms that hold, / And for your spirit's still delight, / Holy thoughts that star the night.
It wasn't until last year that I figured out the problem: I just don't love competitive golf. What I love is the game itself. I love being outdoors, practicing, and smelling the freshly cut grass at 6:00 a.m. as the sun rises. But I didn't love travel, or pressure, or the mean-spiritedness of my competitors.
At night, lying on your back and staring at the falling snow, it's easy to imagine oneself soaring through the stars.
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