October And Fall Quotes

Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.

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.

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

The sweet calm sunshine of October, now
Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mold
The pur0ple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough
drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.

October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O autumn! O teakettle! O grace!

Gardening imparts an organic perspective on the passage of time.

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.

October’s gold is dim — the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapped in damp.

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.

Autumn is as joyful and sweet as an untimely end.

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.

I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.

October is the month for painted leaves. Their rich glow now flashes round the world. As fruits and leaves and the day itself acquire a bright tint just before they fall, so the year near its setting. October is its sunset sky; November the later twilight.

Change is a measure of time and, in the autumn, time seems speeded up. What was is not and never again will be; what is is change.

Listen! the wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves, we have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!

Love the trees until their leaves fall off, then encourage them to try again next year.

Besides the Autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days, A little this side of the snow, And that side of the Haze…, Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind- Thy windy will to bear!

In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October, when the trees are bare to the mild heavens, and the red leaves bestrew the road, and you can feel the breath of winter, morning and evening – no days so calm, so tenderly solemn, and with such a reverent meekness in the air.

Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.

It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.

Autumn arrives in the early morning.

There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings as now in October.

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.

Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer’s best of weather And autumn’s best of cheer.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun.

I cannot endure to waste anything as precious as autumn sunshine by staying in the house. So I spend almost all the daylight hours in the open air.

Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of maturity; but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with autumn on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning of the rolling hills that reach to the far horizon?

There ought to be gardens for all months in the year, in which, severally, things of beauty may be then in season.

In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October.

A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.

The autumn always gets me badly, as it breaks into colours. I want to go south, where there is no autumn, where the cold doesn’t crouch over one like a snow-leopard waiting to pounce.

For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.

The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter woods.

Autumn is a season followed immediately by looking forward to spring.

Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.

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.

Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.

I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe; And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.