Top 1200 Leaves In The Wind Quotes & Sayings - Page 3

No machine can wind a better sounding or tighter wind than a well trained person.

O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!

The leaves fall patiently Nothing remembers or grieves The river takes to the sea The yellow drift of leaves.

Except wind stands as it never stood It is an ill wind turns none to good.

The wind comes creeping, it calls to me to come go exploring. It sings of the things that are to be found under the leaves. It whispers the dreams of the tall fir trees. It does pipe the gentle song the forest sings on gray days. I hear all the voices calling me. I listen. But I cannot go.

Sometimes, when I'm just watching TV at home, I cut some aloe vera leaves and use the inside gel part as a mask. It's incredible how much comes out of every cut - you can just do a little slice. I buy the leaves at health food stores. You can get single whole leaves, and they kind of last you forever.

A sailor may choose the wind to ride out of seaport, but the wind has a mind of it's own.

The wind flew. God told to wind to condense itself and out of the flurry came the horse. But with the spark of sprit the horse flew by the wind itself.

The sky was a cold iron-grey, like the underside of a shield. A sharp breeze lifted the hems of skirts and rattled the leaves on the immature trees; a spiteful, chill wind that sought out your weakest places, the nape of your neck and your knees, and which denied you the comfort of dreaming, of retreating a little from reality.

I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul Where I end up, well, I think only God really knows.

The willow submits to the wind and prospers until one day it is many willows - a wall against the wind.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day. When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, a cloud come over the sunlit arch, And wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March.

Leaves like rusty tin for the desolate mind that has seen the end- the barest glimmerings. Leaves aswirl with gulls made wild by winter.

The wind is blowing; those vessels whose sails are unfurled catch it, and go forward on their way, but those which have their sails furled do not catch the wind. Is that the fault of the wind? Is it the fault of the merciful Father, whose wind of mercy is blowing without ceasing, day and night, whose mercy knows no decay, is it His fault that some of us are happy and some unhappy? We make our own destiny. His sun shines for the weak as well as for the strong. His wind blows for saint and sinner alike. He is the Lord of all, the Father of all, merciful, and impartial.

Listen to the Water-Mill: Through the live-long day How the clicking of its wheel Wears the hours away! Languidly the Autumn wind Stirs the forest leaves, From the field the reapers sing Binding up their sheaves: And a proverb haunts my mind As a spell is cast, "The mill cannot grind With the water that is past.

When the first light dawned on the earth, and the birds awoke, and the brave river was heard rippling confidently seaward, and the nimble early rising wind rustled the oak leaves about our tent, all people, having reinforced their bodies and their souls with sleep, and cast aside doubt and fear, were invited to unattempted adventures.

But I remember seeing a mess of leaves suddenly go skittering in the wind and into the creek, then floating rapidly down the creek towards the sea, making me feel a nameless horror even then of 'Oh my God, we're all being swept away to sea no matter what we know or say or do

Wind is the heart of the wave, the spoon of the sea and the angry bull of the ships. Without wind, there is no ardour, no agitation!

It is the north wind that lashes men into Vikings; it is the soft, luscious south wind which lulls them to lotus dreams.

A lone maple leaf resting on sand Have you ever been out for a late autumn walk in the closing part of the afternoon, and suddenly looked up to realize that the leaves have practically all gone? And the sun has set and the day gone before you knew it, and with that a cold wind blows across the landscape? That's retirement.

Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I but when the trees bow down their heads, the wind is passing by.

We reap what we sow. We are the makers of our own fate. The wind is blowing; those vessels whose sails are unfurled catch it, and go forward on their way, but those which have their sails furled do not catch the wind. Is that the fault of the wind?....... We make our own destiny.

... a man leaves much when he leaves his own country.

I liked the solitude and the silence of the woods and the hills. I felt there the sense of a presence, something undefined and mysterious, which was reflected in the faces of the flowers and the movements of birds and animals, in the sunlight falling through the leaves and in the sound of running water, in the wind blowing on the hills and the wide expanse of earth and sky.

Hate leaves ugly scars, love leaves beautiful ones.

This is a green world, with animals comparatively few and small, and all dependent upon the leaves. By leaves we live.

The mind is like the wind. You're trying to stop the wind, dressed as a kite. How are you going to do it?

It was autumn, the springtime of death. Rain spattered the rotting leaves, and a wild wind wailed. Death was singing in the shower. Death was happy to be alive. The fetus bailed out without a parachute. It landed in the sideline Astroturf, so upsetting the cheerleaders that for the remained of the afternoon their rahs were more like squeaks.

You know how often the turning down this street or that, the accepting or rejecting of an invitation, may deflect the whole current of our lives into some other channel. Are we mere leaves, fluttered hither and thither by the wind, or are we rather, with every conviction that we are free agents, carried steadily along to a definite and pre-determined end?

And beyond the timeless meadows and emerald pastures, the rabbit holes and moss-covered oak and rowan trees and the "slippy sloppy" houses of frogs, the woodland-scented wind rushed between the leaves and blew around the gray veil that dipped below the fells, swirling up in a mist, blurring the edges of the distant forest. (View from Windermere in the Lake District)

Who else is it who calls us back from the death of error, except the life that does not know death, and the wisdom which, needing no light, enlightens minds which are in darkness, that wisdom by which the whole world, even to the leaves of trees drifting in the wind, is governed?

The only way to see the path in the wind is to become the wind itself.

Yes, the world may aspire to vacuousness, lost souls mourn beauty, insignificance surrounds us. Then let us drink a cup of tea. Silence descends, one hears the wind outside, autumn leaves rustle and take flight, the cat sleeps in a warm pool of light. And, with each swallow, time is sublimed.

I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew.

If a man knows not what harbor he seeks, any wind is the right wind.

Criticism should not be querulous and wasting, all knife and root-puller, but guiding, instructive, inspiring, a south wind, not an east wind.

A cold wind blew on the prairie on the day the last buffalo fell. A death wind for my people.

If you have the wind farms but no transmission, you just have things blowing in the wind.

Wind feeds the fire, and wind extinguishes: The flames are nourished by a gentle breeze, Yet, if it stronger grows, they sink and die.

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.

Meditation is simply a strange surgical method which cuts you away from all that is not yours and saves only that which is your authentic being. It burns everything else and leaves you standing naked, alone under the sun, in the wind. It is as if you are the first man who has descended onto earth—who knows nothing, who has to discover everything, who has to be a seeker, who has to go on a pilgrimage.

Stuffed vine leaves tend to burn and/or stick when you cook them. To avoid this, use a heavy based pan lined with a few layers of second-rate leaves.

If a bird is flying for pleasure, it flies with the wind, but if it meets danger it turns and faces the wind, in order that it may rise higher.

You change society by changing the wind. Change the wind, transform the debate, recast the discussion, alter the context in which political discussions are being made, and you will change the outcomes... You will be surprised at how fast the politicians adjust to the change in the wind.

When Summer lies upon the world, and in a noon of gold, Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves the dreams of trees unfold; When woodland halls are green and cool, and wind is in the West, Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is best!

A moss which leaves its ocean becomes pale and dries up and a man which leaves his mother country is a moss which leaves it ocean!

If you reveal your secrets to the wind, you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.

My favorite mode of transport is hot-air ballooning. It's so graceful to be blown by the wind, to go where the wind takes you.

Our plans miscarry because they have no aim. When a man does not know what harbor he is making for, no wind is the right wind.

For example, the wind has its reasons. We just don't notice as we go about our lives. But then, at some point, we are made to notice. The wind envelops you with a certain purpose in mind, and it rocks you. The wind knows everything that's inside you. And not just the wind. Everything, including a stone. They all know us very well. From top to bottom. It only occurs to us at certain times. And all we can do is go with those things. As we take them in, we survive, and deepen.

It's so graceful to be blown by the wind, to go where the wind takes you. Just drifting over beautiful rivers in a balloon is perfect.

Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

I was once supposed to play the wind in a commercial - yes, the wind. I didn't get it.

Britain has a lot of wind. It's our wind. We don't have to import it.

There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less and a cleaner, better stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.

My restlessness leaves my mind racing as I try to wind down at the end of mandatory recovery day. It keeps me tossing after poor performances. And if I played well, well... playing well makes me itch to play better; there is always room for improvement.

Wind is God's way of balancing heat. Wind is the way you shift heat from areas where it's hotter to areas where it's cooler. That's what wind is.

You throw the sand against the wind and the wind blows it back again.

When God wanted to create the horse, he said to the South Wind, "I want to make a creature of you. Condense." And the Wind condensed.