Grasses Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
i-go-forth-to-seek-to-seek-claim-lovely-magic-garden-where-grasses-softly-sigh-muses-speak-anna-akhmatova
there-are-nettles-everywhere-but-smooth-green-grasses-are-more-common-still-blue-heaven-is-larger-than-cloud-elizabeth-barrett-browning
let-there-be-heaven-that-man-may-outlive-his-grasses-anne-sexton
the-world-is-holy-we-are-holy-all-life-is-holy-daily-prayers-are-delivered-on-lips-breaking-waves-whisperings-grasses-shimmering-leaves-terry-tempest-williams
modern-life-is-thin-shallow-fake-i-look-forward-to-when-developers-go-bankrupt-japan-gets-poorer-wild-grasses-take-over-hayao-miyazaki
On cool autumn nights, eels hurrying to the sea sometimes crawl for a mile or more across dewy meadows to reach streams that will carry them to salt water.' These are adult eels, silver eels, and this descent that slid down my mind in the fall from a long spring ascent the eels made years ago... sometimes as high as 8, 000 feet above sea level. There they lived without breeding 'for at least 8 years.' In the late summer of the year they reached maturity, they stopped eating, and their dark color vanished. They turned silver; now they are heading to the sea. Down streams to rivers, down rivers to the seas, south in the North Atlantic where they meet, they are returning to the Sargasso Sea, where, in floating sargassum weed in the deepest waters of the Atlantic, they will mate, release their eggs, and die. This, the whole story of eels at which I have just hinted, is extravagant to the extremes, and food for another kind of thought, a thought about the meaning of such wild, incomprehensible gestures. Imagine a chilly night and a meadow; balls of dew droop from the curved grass. All right: the grass at the edge of the meadow begins to tremble and sway. Here come the eels. The largest are five feet long. They stream into the meadow, sift between grasses, veer from your path. There are too many to count. All you see is a silver slither, like twisted ropes of water falling roughly... If I saw that sight, would I live? If I stumbled across it, would I ever set foot out of my door again? Or would I be seized to join that compelling rush, would I cease eating, and pale, and abandon all to start walking?

Annie Dillard
on-cool-autumn-nights-eels-hurrying-to-sea-sometimes-crawl-for-mile-more-across-dewy-meadows-to-reach-streams-that-will-carry-them-to-salt-water-these-are-adult-eels-silver-eels-
the-listeners-is-there-anybody-there-said-traveller-knocking-on-moonlit-door-and-his-horse-in-silence-champed-grasses-of-forests-ferny-floor-and-bird-flew-up-out-turret-above-tra
All at once, something wonderful happened, although at first, it seemed perfectly ordinary. A female goldfinch suddenly hove into view. She lighted weightlessly on the head of a bankside purple thistle and began emptying the seedcase, sowing the air with down. The lighted frame of my window filled. The down rose and spread in all directions, wafting over the dam's waterfall and wavering between the tulip trunks and into the meadow. It vaulted towards the orchard in a puff; it hovered over the ripening pawpaw fruit and staggered up the steep faced terrace. It jerked, floated, rolled, veered, swayed. The thistle down faltered down toward the cottage and gusted clear to the woods; it rose and entered the shaggy arms of pecans. At last it strayed like snow, blind and sweet, into the pool of the creek upstream, and into the race of the creek over rocks down. It shuddered onto the tips of growing grasses, where it poised, light, still wracked by errant quivers. I was holding my breath. Is this where we live, I thought, in this place in this moment, with the air so light and wild? The same fixity that collapses stars and drives the mantis to devour her mate eased these creatures together before my eyes: the thick adept bill of the goldfinch, and the feathery coded down. How could anything be amiss? If I myself were lighter and frayed, I could ride these small winds, too, taking my chances, for the pleasure of being so purely played. The thistle is part of Adam's curse. 'Cursed is the ground for thy sake, in sorrow shalt thou eat of it; thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee.' A terrible curse: But does the goldfinch eat thorny sorrow with the thistle or do I? If this furling air is fallen, then the fall was happy indeed. If this creekside garden is sorrow, then I seek martyrdom. I was weightless; my bones were taut skins blown with buoyant gas; it seemed that if I inhaled too deeply, my shoulders and head would waft off. Alleluia.

Annie Dillard
all-at-once-something-wonderful-happened-although-at-first-it-seemed-perfectly-ordinary-a-female-goldfinch-suddenly-hove-into-view-she-lighted-weightlessly-on-head-bankside-purpl
A kind of northing is what I wish to accomplish, a single-minded trek towards that place where any shutter left open to the zenith at night will record the wheeling of all the sky's stars as a pattern of perfect, concentric circles. I seek a reduction, a shedding, a sloughing off. At the seashore you often see a shell, or fragment of a shell, that sharp sands and surf have thinned to a wisp. There is no way you can tell what kind of shell it had been, what creature it had housed; it could have been a whelk or a scallop, a cowrie, limpet, or conch. The animal is long since dissolved, and its blood spread and thinned in the general sea. All you hold in your hand is a cool shred of shell, an inch long, pared so thin that it passes a faint pink light. It is an essence, a smooth condensation of the air, a curve. I long for the North where unimpeded winds would hone me to such a pure slip of bone. But I'll not go northing this year. I'll stalk that floating pole and frigid air by waiting here. I wait on bridges; I wait, struck, on forest paths and meadow's fringes, hilltops and banksides, day in and day out, and I receive a southing as a gift. The North washes down the mountains like a waterfall, like a tidal wave, and pours across the valley; it comes to me. It sweetens the persimmons and numbs the last of the crickets and hornets; it fans the flames of the forest maples, bows the meadow's seeded grasses and pokes it chilling fingers under the leaf litter, thrusting the springtails and the earthworms deeper into the earth. The sun heaves to the south by day, and at night wild Orion emerges looming like the Specter over Dead Man Mountain. Something is already here, and more is coming.

Annie Dillard
a-kind-northing-is-what-i-wish-to-accomplish-singleminded-trek-towards-that-place-where-any-shutter-left-open-to-zenith-at-night-will-record-wheeling-all-skys-stars-as-pattern-pe
the-scarcity-flowers-in-society-made-guys-settle-for-weeds-grasses-trust-me-ill-rather-import-rose-than-being-contended-with-thorns-goalsrider
for-centuries-poets-some-poets-have-tried-to-give-voice-to-animals-readers-some-readers-have-felt-empathy-sorrow-if-animals-did-have-voices-they-could-speak-with-tongues-angelsat
summer-grasses-all-that-remains-of-soldiers-dreams-matsuo-bash
death-must-be-beautiful-to-lie-in-soft-brown-earth-with-grasses-waving-above-ones-head-listen-to-silence-to-have-no-yesterday-no-tomorrow-to-forget-time-to-forgive-life-to-be-at-
but-when-flash-flood-crosses-your-path-when-lion-leaps-at-you-from-grasses-advanced-selfawareness-is-unaffordable-indulgence-the-brain-stem-does-its-best-peter-watts
clear-water-color-deeply-steeped-tea-surrounded-by-cattails-gracile-grasses-lauren-slater
revolutionary-consciousness-is-to-be-found-among-most-ruthlessly-exploited-masses-animals-trees-water-air-grasses-gary-snyder
the-legendary-tumbleweed-is-really-nurse-crop-that-protects-growth-prairie-grasses-under-its-shade-then-sacrifices-itself-blows-away-antoine-predock
like-grasses-showing-tender-faces-to-each-other-thus-should-we-do-for-this-was-wish-grandfathers-world-black-elk
chance-was-to-work-in-garden-where-he-would-care-for-plants-grasses-trees-which-grew-there-peacefully-he-would-be-as-one-on-them-quiet-open-hearted-jerzy-kosinski
it-is-from-progeny-this-parent-cell-that-we-all-take-our-looks-we-still-share-genes-around-resemblance-enzymes-grasses-to-those-whales-is-in-lewis-thomas
we-must-come-to-understand-our-past-our-history-in-terms-soil-water-forests-grasses-that-have-made-it-what-it-is-william-vogt
the-most-beautiful-most-spirited-most-inspiring-creature-ever-to-print-foot-on-grasses-america-j-frank-dobie
do-not-arouse-disdainful-mind-when-you-prepare-broth-wild-grasses-do-not-arouse-joyful-mind-when-you-prepare-fine-cream-soup-dogen
the-dry-grasses-are-not-dead-for-me-a-beautiful-form-has-as-much-life-at-one-season-as-another-henry-david-thoreau
what-idiocy-to-racing-into-this-story-its-labyrinths-sprinting-away-from-our-happiness-among-fresh-spring-grasses-by-oak-ian-mcewan
hawthorn-white-odorous-with-blossom-framing-quiet-fields-swaying-flowers-grasses-hum-bees-f-s-flint
ye-country-comets-that-portend-no-war-nor-princes-funeral-shining-unto-no-higher-end-than-to-presage-grasses-fall-andrew-marvell
grasses-are-misty-the-waters-silent-a-tranquil-evening-yosa-buson
i-have-once-more-taken-up-things-that-cant-be-done-water-with-grasses-weaving-on-bottom-but-im-always-tackling-that-sort-thing-claude-monet
walk-away-quietly-in-any-direction-taste-freedom-mountaineer-camp-out-among-grasses-gentians-glacial-meadows-in-craggy-garden-nooks-full-john-muir
while-drawing-grasses-i-learn-nothing-about-grass-but-wake-up-to-wonder-that-there-is-grass-at-all-frederick-franck
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