Youth is like spring, an over praised season more remarkable for biting winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.
By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.
There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!
Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.
Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.
The falling leaves drift by the window The autumn leaves of red and gold.... I see your lips, the summer kisses The sunburned hands, I used to hold Since you went away, the days grow long And soon I'll hear ol' winter's song. But I miss you most of all my darling, When autumn leaves start to fall.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
There is a harmony In autumn, and a luster in its sky...
It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun.
The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter woods.
The season for enjoying the fullness of life - partaking of the harvest, sharing the harvest with others, and reinvesting and saving portions of the harvest for yet another season of growth.
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.
I love the fall. I love it because of the smells that you speak of; and also because things are dying, things that you don't have to take care of anymore, and the grass stops growing.
The leaves are falling, falling as from way off, as though far gardens withered in the skies; they are falling with denying gestures. And in the nights the heavy earth is falling from all the stars down into loneliness. We all are falling. This hand falls. And look at others: it is in them all. And yet there is one who holds this falling endlessly gently in his hands.
Fall is my favorite season in Los Angeles, watching the birds change color and fall from the trees.
My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.
Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: