Every falling leaf reminds me that I too will soon be separated from these trees. Trying to capture freedom is like trying to catch a falling leaf. Occasionally you may grab one out of the...

Because this exact leaf had to grow in that exact way, in that exact place, so that precise wind could tear it from that precise branch and make it fly into this exact face at...

When the time has come, every leaf turns to face the sun!

A withered maple leaf has left its branch and is falling to the ground; its movements resemble those of a butterfly in flight. Isn’t it strange? The saddest and deadest of things is yet so...

Perfection”Every oak will lose a leaf to the wind.Every star-thistle has a thorn.Every flower has a blemish.Every wave washes back upon itself.Every ocean embraces a storm.Every raindrop falls with precision.Every slithering snail leaves its silver...

Why?”He stopped pacing and looked at her as if she’d just asked him to count every leaf on every tree in the Old Place. “Because… you’re you.

I am just a leaf. Just a leaf falling from the tree so that a new bud may grow.

Only with a leafcan I talk of the forest,

In every change, in every falling leaf there is some pain, some beauty. And that’s the way new leaves grow.

Rather than turning over a new leaf, prune your tree so that new leaves continue to blossom.

I was drinking in the surroundings: air so crisp you could snap it with your fingers and greens in every lush shade imaginable offset by autumnal flashes of red and yellow.

The autumn leaf falls faster than the trees grow faster. (La feuille d’automne descend plus vite – Que les arbres ne grandissent plus vite.)

Living things don’t all requirelight in the same degree. Some of usmake our own light: a silver leaflike a path no one can use, a shallowlake of silver in the darkness under the great maples.But...

I’ve lived to se my longings dieI’ve lived to se my longings die:My dreams and I have grown apart;Now only sorrow haunts my eye,The wages of a bitter heart.Beneath the storms of hostile fate,My flowery...

Their leafy whispers delighted her, and she promised her confidentiality by gently touching the trunks of both trees. They had held her secrets close to their hearts, she could do no less.

There is another alphabet, whispering from every leaf, singing from every river, shimmering from every sky.

Leaf felt buried beneath the remains of their prior life, the ashes coating every part of who he thought he was in this community.

Every tree in the forest has a story to tell. Some of them were burnt but they endured the fire and got revived; some of them were cut, their barks injured, some people pick up...

The scenic route was a paved graveyard of dreams, but Fillion hoped his would rise from the ashes, marking the moment when he would finally own his life.

Your initiatives should be purposeful. Never climb a tree with the purpose of plucking a fruit, only to come down with a leaf.

As the leaves randomly fell, she contemplated how they sacrificially gave up their essence to sustain new life. Or was it the tree’s sacrifice? Each leaf was a part of Gaia’s play. Their final act:...

Never climb the tree with the reason of plucking a fruit; only to get there and pick a leaf. Let everything you get there to do be done and let it be done well!

Secrets upon secrets were weaving into a strange and mysterious fabric that would ultimately clothe his future.

And I wonder how the leaves clinched to the branches, yet to fall, the survivors feel when they see one of their own perish and realise that they too are to share a similar fate,...

Multi-colored lights flashed and glared on the wet road and cast eerie reflections, reminiscent of artistic surrealism. Fillion imagined that his distress and anger swirled and moved with the refracted lights, creating an urban masterpiece...