139 match(es) found in quotations

Ralph Waldo Emerson :
Nature, hating art and pains, Baulks and baffles plotting brains; Casualty and Surprise Are the apples of her eyes; But she dearly loves the poor, And, by marvel of her own, Strikes the loud pretender down.
[Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), U.S. essayist, poet, philosopher. "Nature I," May-Day and Other Pieces (1867).]
Read more quotations about / on: nature
Andrew Marvell :
He hangs in shades the orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows; He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet; But apples plants of such a price No tree could ever bear them twice.
[Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British poet. Bermudas (l. 17-24). . . The Complete Poems [Andrew Marvell]. Elizabeth Story Donno, ed. (1972, repr. 1985) Penguin.]
Read more quotations about / on: green, tree, night
Ralph Waldo Emerson :
Silent rushes the swift Lord Through ruined systems still restored, Broadsowing, bleak and void to bless, Plants with worlds the wilderness; Waters with tears of ancient sorrow Apples of Eden ripe to-morrow. House and tenant go to ground, Lost in God, in Godhead found.
[Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), U.S. essayist, poet, philosopher. "Threnody," Poems (1847).]
Read more quotations about / on: sorrow, lost, house, god
Andrew Marvell :
What wondrous life in this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
[Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British poet. The Garden (l. 33-40). . . The Complete Poems [Andrew Marvell]. Elizabeth Story Donno, ed. (1972, repr. 1985) Penguin.]
Read more quotations about / on: life
Robert Louis Stevenson :
I should like to rise and go Where the golden apples grow;— Where below another sky Parrot islands anchored lie, And, watched by cockatoos and goats, Lonely Crusoes building boats;—
[Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894), Scottish author. Travel (l. 1-6). . . Faber Book of Children's Verse, The. Janet Adam Smith, comp. (1953; paperback 1963) Faber and Faber.]
Read more quotations about / on: lonely, sky
Robert Lowell :
At it in its familiar twang: "My friend, Cut your own throat. Cut your own throat. Now! Now!" September twenty-second, Sir, the bough Cracks with the unpicked apples, and at dawn The small-mouth bass breaks water, gorged with spawn.
[Robert Lowell (1917-1977), U.S. poet. After the Surprising Conversions (l. 42-46). . . Selected Poems [Robert Lowell]. (Rev. ed. 1977; repr. 1993) Farrar, Straus and Giroux.]
Read more quotations about / on: cut, september, friend, water
William Carlos Williams :
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady's slipper.
[William Carlos Williams (1883-1963), U.S. poet. Portrait of a Lady (l. 1-5). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.]
Read more quotations about / on: sky
William Carlos Williams :
Which shore? Agh, petals maybe. How should I know? Which shore? Which shore? I said petals from an appletree.
[William Carlos Williams (1883-1963), U.S. poet. Portrait of a Lady (l. 18-22). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.]
Wallace Stevens :
The bud of the apple is desire, the down-falling gold, The catbird's gobble in the morning half-awake These are real only if I make them so. Whistle For me, grow green for me and, as you whistle and grow green, Intangible arrows quiver and stick in the skin And I taste at the root of the tongue the unreal of what is real.
[Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Holiday in Reality."]
Read more quotations about / on: green
Henry David Thoreau :
On the thirty-first day of March, one hundred and forty-two years before this, probably about this time in the afternoon, there were hurriedly paddling down this part of the river, between the pine woods which then fringed these banks, two white women and a boy, who had left an island at the mouth of the Contoocook before daybreak. They were lightly clad for the season, in the English fashion, and handled their paddles unskillfully, but with nervous energy and determination, and at the bottom of their canoe lay the still bleeding scalps of ten of the aborigines. They were Hannah Dustan, and her nurse, Mary Neff,... and an English boy, named Samuel Lennardson, escaping from captivity among the Indians. On the 15th of March previous, Hannah Dustan had been compelled to rise from childbed, and half dressed, with one foot bare, accompanied by her nurse, commence an uncertain march, in still inclement weather, through the snow and the wilderness. She had seen her seven elder children flee with their father, but knew not of their fate. She had seen her infant's brains dashed out against an apple tree, and had left her own and her neighbors' dwellings in ashes. When she reached the wigwam of her captor, situated on an island in the Merrimack, more than twenty miles above where we now are, she had been told that she and her nurse were soon to be taken to a distant Indian settlement, and there made to run the gauntlet naked.... Having determined to attempt her escape, she instructed the boy to inquire of one of the men, how he should dispatch an enemy in the quickest manner, and take his scalp. "Strike 'em there," said he, placing his finger on his temple, and he also showed him how to take off the scalp. On the morning of the 31st she arose before daybreak, and awoke her nurse and the boy, and taking the Indians' tomahawks, they killed them all in their sleep, excepting one favorite boy, and one squaw who fled wounded with him to the woods. The English boy struck the Indian who had given him the information, on the temple, as he had been directed. They then collected all the provision they could find, and took their master's tomahawk and gun, and scuttling all the canoes but one, commenced their flight to Haverhill, distant about sixty miles by the river. But after having proceeded a short distance, fearing that her story would not be believed if she should escape to tell it, they returned to the silent wigwam, and taking off the scalps of the dead, put them into a bag as proofs of what they had done, and then, retracing their steps to the shore in the twilight, recommenced their voyage.
[Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), U.S. philosopher, author, naturalist. A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers (1849), in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 1, pp. 341-343, Houghton Mifflin (1906). As Thoreau later makes clear, the "apple tree" in this passage signals that this story is a new world replication of the Fall of Adam and Eve.]
Read more quotations about / on: island
[Hata Bildir]