In a forest of a hundred thousand trees, no two leaves are alike. And no two journeys along the same path are alike.
Only with a leaf can I talk of the forest
Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.
Never say there is nothing beautiful in the world anymore. There is always something to make you wonder in the shape of a tree, the trembling of a leaf.
Whatever you keep hidden in your heart, God manifests in you outwardly. Whatever the root of the tree feeds on in secret, affects the bough and the leaf.
I'll turn over a new leaf.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
Do not go through life like leaf blown from here to there believing whatever you are told.
I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar!
Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
For mine is the old belief... There is a soil in every leaf.
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.
Every time you tear a leaf off a calendar, you present a new place for new ideas and progress.
That's death and life, you see. We all shine on. You just have to release your hearts, alert your senses, and pay attention. A leaf, a star, a song, a laugh. Notice all the little things, because somebody is reaching out to you. Qualcuno ti ama. Somebody loves you.
There is another alphabet Whispering from every leaf, Singing from every river, Shimmering from every sky.
With time and patience, the mulberry leaf becomes satin.
We are armed with language adequate to describe each leaf of the filed, but not to describe human character.
And he that will go to bed sober, Falls with the leaf still in October.
The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Each leaf that brushed his face deepened his sadness and dread. Each leaf he passed he'd never pass again. They rode over his face like veils, already some yellow, their veins like slender bones where the sun shone through them. He had resolved himself to ride on for he could not turn back and the world that day was as lovely as any day that ever was and he was riding to his death.
I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart within me like a stone Is numb'd too much for hopes or fears; Look right, look left, I dwell alone; I lift mine eyes, but dimm'd with grief No everlasting hills I see; My life is in the falling leaf: O Jesus, quicken me.
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away.
A warrior is a hunter. He calculates everything. That's control. Once his calculations are over, he acts. He lets go. That's abandon. A warrior is not a leaf at the mercy of the wind. No one can push him; no one can make him do thingsagainst himself or against his better judgment. A warrior is tuned to survive, and he survives in the best of all possible fashions.
Man's life is like a drop of dew on a leaf.
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