Grass Quotes

“I like it when a flower or a little tuft of grass grows through a crack in the concrete. It's so fuckin' heroic.”
― George Carlin

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.”
― John Lubbock, The Use Of Life

“It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.”
― Maud Hart Lovelace, Betsy-Tacy and Tib

“in the afterglow
of an evening rain

i lay down
in the grass
and think of you

my body aches
like an after-kiss

breaking in soft fires
and wildflowers

my dear,
i will always be
this tender for you.”
― Sanober Khan, A Thousand Flamingos

“Happiness is an undercurrent of sensitivity and leads a surreptitious life: it is an internal eventuality. We can feel it in stillness and it stands the test of time. Joy is an eruption of cheerful moments and we want to express it: it is an external eventuality. We might shout it out, as it conveys a dynamic of fleeting instants. Joy gives voice to “en-joy-ment”. ("The grass was greener over there")”
― Erik Pevernagie

“The grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence. Many politicians promise green, green grass by blending niceties with delusion and by using alluring confidence tricks. They voice attractive tales and tell things, people like to hear. But the post-factual grassland often appears to be parched and barren. ("The grass was greener over there")”
― Erik Pevernagie

“A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see
and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the
vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I
receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out
of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for
nothing.

...

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.”
― Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

“Katsa watched the long grass moving around them. The wind pushed it, attacked it, struck it in one place and then another. It rose and fell and rose again. It flowed, like water.”
― Kristin Cashore, Graceling

“Somewhere, things must be beautiful and vivid. Somewhere else, life has to be beautiful and vivid and rich. Not like this muted palette -a pale blue bedroom, washed out sunny sky, dull green yellow brown of the fields. Here, I know ever twist of every road, every blade of grass, every face in this town, and I am suffocating.”
― Lisa Ann Sandell, A Map of the Known World

“There was after all no mystery in the end of love, no mystery but the mystery of love itself, which was large certainly but as real as grass, as natural and unaccountable as bloom and branch and their growth.”
― John Crowley, Little, Big

“Get close to grass and you’ll see a star.”
― Dejan Stojanovic, The Sun Watches the Sun

“Stone, steel, dominions pass,
Faith too, no wonder;
So leave alone the grass
That I am under.”
― A.E. Housman, More Poems

“The children had had an argument once about whether there was more grass in the world or more sand, and Roger said that of course there must be more sand because of under the sea; in every ocean all over the world there would be sand, if you looked deep down. But there could be grass too, argued Deborah, a waving grass, a grass that nobody had ever seen, and the colour of that ocean grass would be darker than any grass on the surface of the world, in fields or prairies or people's gardens in America. It would be taller than tress and it would move like corn in the wind. ("The Pool”
― Daphne du Maurier, Echoes from the Macabre: Selected Stories

“We parked our bikes on verges so they could graze.”
― Roddy Doyle, Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha

“In the plains the grass grows tall, since there is no one to cut it. There is no one to water it either.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“Song of myself
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see
and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.”
― Walt Whitman

“In the foliage
A kind token from a bird
Feather in Fall’s grass”
― Marie Helen Abramyan

“She and Prudence sat on a cool grassy carpet. A pale green curtain of branches just brushed the grasses and threw a filigree of shadows, as delicate as the wrought silver, on the child’s face.”
― Elizabeth George Speare, The Witch of Blackbird Pond

“When dew settles on grass, ghost tracks turn it to
gossamer rain.”
― Sneha Subramanian Kanta, Ghost Tracks

“He looked at the blue sky above and the green grass below and he knew he would always love this world!”
― Avijeet Das

“أين الضوء، أين الربيع، أما كان هناك في يوم عشب أخضر؟”
― Jón Kalman Stefánsson, حزن الملائكة

“There is nothing quite like the smell of rain on a grass field after a sunny spell.”
― Fuad Alakbarov

“She grabbed a shiny bottle of luck, wondering if it might taste better. The liquid inside was a sensational shade of green, but it tasted of grass and old celery.”
― Stephanie Garber, Once Upon a Broken Heart

“So she wove a wreath from bluebells and delicate white flowers and placed it on my head. It smelled like withered grass, like the end of summer.”
― Kristina Gorcheva-Newberry, The Orchard: A Novel

“It is as sweet as early grass butter in April.”
― Herman Melville, Moby Dick

“The green of his eyes matched the grass between my fingers, and the amber flecks were like the shafts of sunlight that streamed through the trees. Even his mask, odd and foreign, seemed to fit into the glen- as if this place had been fashioned for him alone. I could picture him here in his beast form, curled up in the grass, dozing.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“The music became a siren song. The melody was my Iodestone, and I was powerless against its lure. With each step, I savoured the dampness of the grass beneath my bare feet. I didn't remember when I'd lost my shoes.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“I breathe in the fine mist from the water, the scents of loam and clotted river grass.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir

“Sleeping on grass is the most peaceful thing.”
― Avijeet Das

“Because New Jersey is the “Garden State,” I connected the word gardening to what was around me: large fields of grass for horse farms broken up by occasional forests, orchards, or corn fields that then abutted abruptly into cookie cutter housing developments and their smaller dollops of grass. That we lived in the smack middle of the state only solidified the association

garden = grass”
― Matt Puchalski, A Pandemic Gardening Journal