A time for philosophical reflection, hot coffee, a warm blanket and leisurely friendly conversations. A time of pleasant melancholy, contemplation of the uniquely beautiful autumn nature and reading new books. A time when people should warm each other: with their words, with their feelings, with their lips. It's autumn.
91 days of autumn. Some people associate this time with the coming cold, bad weather and annoying rains. And for some, this same time is associated with the warm light of the setting sun, cozy evenings at home and carpets of colorful leaves in parks.
In any case, autumn is an extraordinary phenomenon. But in the fall, all thoughts fly south, and my head becomes quiet, empty and untidy. So where can you find words to describe what autumn is? To do this, we have selected beautiful quotes about autumn and everything connected with it.
Autumn gives a feeling of real unreality.
Cool and funny quotes about autumn
Autumn is not a bad time, it is kind on the contrary. And the cold one is deliberately so that people hug more in order to warm up.
No matter how cold autumn is, you can still be someone's spring.
Autumn can become warmer than summer when the soul is dressed in love.
Most of all this fall I want to hear three main words: “They gave us heating.”
Summer ends, autumn begins. Business as usual, life goes on!
Autumn is the only time of year that teaches.
Summer is over, so let us light it up in the fall!
October. The Christmas tree in my living room no longer surprises guests so much...
- I love you, autumn!!! - And I love you!
Autumn made us stupid.
Fall in love and date, there’s nothing else to do in the fall anyway.
Autumn is the second spring, when every leaf is a flower.
It’s amazing, it’s mid-October, and I haven’t lost any weight yet for summer.
Damn autumn! Until the tan fades, it’s summer for me.
A routine check of the pockets of warm clothes in the fall often leads to unplanned profits!
Everyone should find at least a couple of minutes to stop, sit, and watch the autumn leaves fall...
Autumn is a true season of freedom: instead of being green, the leaves can choose between yellow, red, brown, orange!
Neither the coffee, nor the jacket, nor the blanket keeps you warm... Summer is ending... What, hello, autumn?!
Colors of feelings: a collection of cozy quotes about autumn
Autumn is a time of bright feelings, a riot of colors, tastes and cozy memories. Let's dive into the atmosphere of autumn with a fresh collection of quotes from masters of words.
By autumn, I experience twofold feelings: I seem to love this season, its umbrellas and the crimson carpet under my feet, but at the same time I am afraid of autumn, or more precisely, of the thoughts that are born under the falling leaves. (Elchin Safarli)
September has an amazing ability to make you fall in love with yourself gradually. While you are experiencing the passing of summer, while you are getting used to the idea that there is a long cold ahead, September decorates the tree crowns with autumn graying, dims and shades the light, but makes the colors brighter: cadmium orange and lemon, light and golden ocher, burnt sienna - specks, sparing, along the very edge of the birch leaf. Having barely emerged from the state of despondency, summer is gone, summer is gone! — you find yourself in the comforting embrace of September. Good, you exhale, returning to yourself again. “The words have come back,” September will say. He doesn’t ask, he affirms. (Narine Abgaryan)
Autumn was coming into its own, the artists took refuge under the warm shelter of their workshops, and he still walked and painted in the wind, and in the rain, and in the fog, and in a real storm. In inclement weather, his damp canvases were often covered with sand and salty sea water. The rain soaked him without mercy, the fog and wind chilled him to the bones, sand got into his eyes and nostrils... but he reveled in every minute of work... (Irving Stone)
Autumn is the last, most delightful smile of the year. (William Cullen Bryant)
Autumn is the second spring, when every leaf is a flower. (Albert Camus)
Autumn stands on the threshold as an uninvited guest, hesitates, looks away guiltily, holds out a handful of this and that - ripe, scarlet-sweet, viscous-tart. Love, love me! Here's the gold of September, here's the serenity of October, here's the farewell chirp of the cicadas, here's the stroke of a crane's wedge on the clouds... “I took this hair from the rye, if you want, tie it on your finger - I don’t feel any pain...” But there, beyond the blissful In silence, behind the sedately flying maples, behind the puddles reflecting the sky, the cold winds of November are driven forward - the gloomy child of autumn, scratched and unloved, the messenger of inevitable changes, the messenger of cold December. There, behind the luxury of October, there are silent prickly snows. (Narine Abgaryan)
Now everything is going in reverse. Like in the movies, when the film is played backwards, people jump out of the water onto the diving board. September comes, you close the window that you opened in June, you take off the tennis shoes that you put on then, and you climb into the heavy shoes that you abandoned then. Now people quickly hide in the house, like cuckoos back into the clock, when they are ticking away the time. Just now the verandas were full of people and everyone was chattering like magpies. And immediately the doors slammed shut, no conversations could be heard, only leaves were falling from the trees. (Ray Bradbury)
And then something began to happen with the summer, everything somehow changed - clouds, trees, other sounds and smells appeared, and we, in grief, already thought that summer was ending - when the especially blue sky, cobwebs in the " old garden”, the smell of mushrooms and damp straw - we learned another new joy: it’s not “summer is leaving”, but “autumn has come”! (Anastasia Tsvetaeva)
Anya reveled in the riot of colors that surrounded her. “Oh, Marilla,” she exclaimed one Saturday morning, running into the kitchen with an armful of bright maple branches, “I’m so glad I live in a world where it’s October.” It would be terrible if we went straight from September to November, right? Look at the branches! Doesn't it give you a pleasant shiver when you look at them? And even several tremors at once? I want to decorate my room with these branches. (Lucy Maud Montgomery)
Sadness has arrived in autumn. A part of you died every year when the leaves fell and hungry branches were revealed to the wind and the dank cold light. But you knew that spring would certainly come and the river would flow again, freed from ice. If the cold rains come and kill the spring, it seems that someone young died for no reason. (Ernest Hemingway)
But, you know, I was probably looking forward to summer so much that I would miss autumn again. Through the slightly cold air and sad twilight. Wrap yourself in a scarf, warm your hands in your pockets... I'm crazy, right? All year I was in a hurry for summer, it came and that’s it, I’m burning out. And it’s not the heat, I don’t get tired of it. It’s just that my character is more like autumn. (Elchin Safarli)
Ah, this rebellious and sad month. In October the world is on fire. (Ray Bradbury)
... there was that extraordinary autumn weather that always surprises people, when the low sun warms hotter than in spring, when everything sparkles in the rare, clean air so that it hurts the eyes, when the chest becomes stronger and fresher, inhaling the fragrant autumn air, when in the dark warm nights Golden stars are constantly raining down from the sky, frightening and delighting them. (Lev Tolstoy)
The garden, washed by the night rain, is entangled in a foggy veil - it spreads over the tops of the trees, lies like a cotton heap on the shaggy shoulders of the cypress trees, oozes through the branches of a large quince - the yellow fruits, covered with rough fluff, stand out as sharp splashes on the milky blanket. The fog will go away - the hills will be speckled with maple gold and blush, the surroundings will be shrouded in the thick aroma of medlar and rose hips, there will be a sharp smell of pine needles and blackberries washed in the morning - at the end of autumn they are sickly sweet, large, you can’t hold three berries in the palm of your hand. (Narine Abgaryan)
It was autumn. If it were possible to collect all the gold and copper that is on earth, and forge thousands of thousands of thin leaves from them, then they would make up an insignificant part of that autumn outfit that lay on the mountains. In addition, forged leaves would seem rough compared to real ones, especially aspen leaves. Everyone knows that aspen leaves tremble even from a bird whistle. (K. Paustovsky)
Autumn presents a person with a generous gift - the science of dying, we all know about this, only few people admit to themselves what they learn every autumn, while the gold of all heavens pours out at our feet, and only touching the ground turns into dry foliage. (Max Fry)
“In November the sky is somehow high, and everything breathes sadness,” he said. - What month do you like? - November. - Why? - Because the sky is high, and you feel the sadness of loneliness, your heart beats anxiously, it seems as if you are becoming stronger. There is some kind of revival in the air, and you are in anticipation of real winter. (Banana Yoshimoto)
November. The fogs have become thicker and more impenetrable; they go away for a long time, reluctantly, clinging to wooden fences with tulle hems. The distant call of the river is heard - cold, foamy, it runs, gasping, ahead of itself, telling everyone that snow is approaching the mountain pass, she saw it, she knows. (Narine Abgaryan)
Autumn for me is a time of magic, when the world is painted with the colors of the masters. But many people fear this season, with all its splendor and romance, perceiving it as a harbinger of the end, winter death. But in the fall I feel alive. Autumn is both the beginning and the end. (Gene Pendzivol)
Autumn is the soul of metamorphosis, the time when the world freezes on the threshold of winter, that is, on the threshold of Death, but does not yet fall into it. This is a contradictory world - a time of harvest and abundance, but also cold and hardship. Here we dive into the very thick of life, but do not forget that everything passes and fades. Autumn turns the world from one state to another. The year becomes mature and wise, but not yet decrepit and feeble-minded. (Catherine M. Valente)
The forest, as expected in autumn, looked magnificent. The variety of red tones mixed with the dark green of the coniferous trees, and he thought (and not for the first time) if a person is destined to die, then there are worse seasons for this. (Stephen King)
Autumn is like a book that has already been read, but has already been forgotten - every page is about what you know and what you vaguely remember, every page is a return to where you have already been. The nights are now filled with the sound of rain, the mornings smell of exhausted but not yet cooled earth, the sun, having lost all its decorous slowness, fussily glides along the edge of the sky, not rising above the hills - the time of the sun is gone, other people's times have come. (Narine Abgaryan)
Photo from Unsplash
You might also be interested in fall poems, winter quotes, heartfelt winter poetry, spring poetry, and a collection of heartfelt love poems.
Short sayings about autumn, love and relationships
I love autumn, although I don't like the cold. But it is precisely at this time that nature reminds me how important it is to appreciate warmth.
Autumn always and everywhere complicates everything. Both in life and in relationships.
It's damp outside, the sky is crying, the sun is not warming: everything is so black and white... I wonder why? Maybe because it's autumn? No, you’re just not around... Autumn makes words warmer, kisses stronger, and love... Love does not depend on the time of year.
Autumn has touched you and me too... It’s cold without you, it’s cool with you... There’s no longer that warmth that warmed us from the inside...
Autumn is that time of year when you start to feel sad, but with the first snow you realize again that life is beautiful.
In the spring the heart makes mistakes, but in the fall it sums up the results.
You need to leave pleasantly and barely audible, like the rustling of leaves in October.
Love! In winter from the cold, in summer from the heat, in spring from the first leaves, in autumn from the last: always from everything.
Love has its own laws of development, its own ages, just like human life. It has its own luxurious spring, its hot summer, and finally, autumn, which for some is warm, bright and fruitful, for others cold, rotten and barren.
In autumn you can become a concentration of warmth and love.
Every moment of autumn contains a piece of something beautiful.
It's already autumn. And in the fall you shouldn’t be alone. Surviving autumn is hard enough as it is.
Who can tell when summer turns into autumn. And who can notice the moment when love grows cold?
Autumn is like that moment in a relationship when the relationship is no longer there.
Autumn is when animals look for food to fatten up for the winter, and for humans it is a time when they look for someone to sleep with on a cold night.
On a cloudy autumn morning, it would be better not to get out of bed, sleep and dream, and after getting enough sleep, ask your loved one for a cup of hot coffee right in bed.
You stand, breathe in the frosty, refreshingly prickly air, and your soul is so quiet... This is autumn.
Autumn
I
October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off the last leaves from its naked branches; The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing. The stream still runs babbling behind the mill, But the pond has already frozen; my neighbor hurries to the departing fields with his desire, and the winter suffers from mad fun, and the barking of dogs awakens the sleeping oak groves.
II
Now is my time: I don’t like spring; The thaw is boring to me; stench, dirt - in the spring I’m sick; The blood is fermenting; feelings and mind are constrained by melancholy. I am more pleased with the harsh winter, I love its snow; in the presence of the moon How easy the running of a sleigh with a friend is fast and free, When under the sable, warm and fresh, She shakes your hand, flaming and trembling!
III
How fun it is, shod with sharp iron on your feet, to slide along the mirror of standing, smooth rivers! And the brilliant worries of the winter holidays?.. But you also need to know honor; six months of snow and snow, After all, even the inhabitant of the den, the Bear, will finally get tired of it. It’s impossible for us to ride in sleighs with the young Armids for a whole century, or to sour at the stoves behind double glass.
IV
Oh, summer is red! I would love you If it weren’t for the heat, the dust, the mosquitoes, and the flies. You, destroying all spiritual abilities, torment us; like the fields we suffer from drought; Just to give her something to drink and refresh herself - We have no other thought, and we feel sorry for the old woman’s winter, And, having seen her off with pancakes and wine, We do her wake with ice cream and ice.
V
The days of late autumn are usually scolded, But she is dear to me, dear reader, With her quiet beauty, humbly shining. So the unloved child in my own family draws me to itself. To tell you frankly, Of the annual times, I am glad only for her, There is a lot of goodness in her; the lover is not vain, I found something in her like a wayward dream.
VI
How to explain this? I like her, As you probably like the consumptive maiden at times. Condemned to death, the poor thing bows down without a murmur, without anger. A smile is visible on faded lips; She does not hear the gaping of the grave abyss; The color of his face is still purple. She is still alive today, gone tomorrow.
VII
It's a sad time! charm of the eyes! Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me - I love the lush decay of nature, the forests dressed in crimson and gold, in their canopies the sound of the wind and fresh breath, and the skies are covered with wavy darkness, and the rare ray of sun, and the first frosts, and the distant threats of gray winter.
VIII
And every autumn I bloom again; The Russian cold is good for my health; I again feel love for the habits of life: One by one sleep flies away, one by one hunger finds; The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart, Desires are boiling - I am happy and young again, I am full of life again - such is my body (Please forgive me the unnecessary prosaism).
IX
They lead the horse to me; in the open expanse, waving his mane, he carries the rider, and the frozen valley rings loudly under his shining hoof and the ice cracks. But the short day is extinguished, and in the forgotten fireplace the Fire burns again - now the bright light is shining, now it is smoldering slowly - and I read before it, Or I harbor long thoughts in my soul.
X
And I forget the world - and in the sweet silence I am sweetly lulled to sleep by my imagination, And poetry awakens in me: The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement, It trembles and sounds, and seeks, as in a dream, to finally pour out with free manifestation - And then an invisible swarm of guests comes to me, Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.
XI
And the thoughts in the head are agitated in courage, And light rhymes run towards them, And the fingers ask for the pen, the pen for the paper, A minute - and the poems will flow freely. So the ship slumbers motionless in the motionless moisture, But chu! - the sailors suddenly rush, crawl Up, down - and the sails are inflated, the winds are full; The mass has moved and is cutting through the waves.
XII
Floating. Where should we sail?..
Best Quotes from Paustovsky Konstantin Georgievich (30 quotes)
The versatility of Konstantin Georgievich’s activities is truly impressive. During his life he never had to work in any way. He was a teacher, a military journalist, and a screenwriter, but he gained his main fame thanks to his books. It cannot be said that his books were head and shoulders above his colleagues, but they contained the basic values of life. That's probably why they were read. You can get to know the writer’s thoughts better in this collection. The best quotes from Paustovsky Konstantin Georgievich are presented below.
Nature will act on us with all its strength only when we bring our human element into the feeling of it, when our state of mind, our love, our joy or sadness comes into full harmony with nature and it will no longer be possible to separate the freshness of the morning from the light of our loved ones eyes and the measured noise of the forest from thinking about the life lived.
When a person is happy, he is generous, he strives to be a guide to beauty.
If lightning is a plan, then rainfall is the embodiment of a plan. These are harmonious flows of images and words. This is a book.
The heart, imagination and mind are the environment where what we call culture is born.
Let's not talk about love, because we still don't know what it is. Maybe it's the thick snow that falls all night, or the winter streams where the trout splash. Or is it laughter, and singing, and the smell of old resin before dawn, when the candles burn out and the stars press against the glass to shine in the eyes. Who knows? Maybe these are men's tears about what the heart never expected: about tenderness, about affection, incoherent whispers among the forest nights. Maybe this is the return of childhood. Who knows? And maybe it’s the despair before parting, when the heart sinks...
The clearer the air, the brighter the sunlight. The more transparent the prose, the more perfect its beauty and the more strongly it resonates in the human heart.
A poetic perception of life and everything around us is the greatest gift we have inherited from childhood. If a person does not lose this gift over many sober years, then he is a poet or writer.
Maybe looking at the back of a person who is leaving forever is the worst thing you have to experience.
The rhythm of prose is never achieved artificially. The rhythm of prose depends on talent, on a sense of language, on a good “writer’s ear.” This good ear is to some extent related to musical hearing.
Poetry has one amazing property. She returns the word to its original, virgin freshness. The most erased, completely “spoken” words by us, which have completely lost their figurative qualities for us, living only as a verbal shell, begin to sparkle, ring, and smell fragrant in poetry!
Love has thousands of aspects, and each of them has its own light, its own sadness, its own happiness and its own fragrance.
One of the foundations of writing is a good memory.
The job of an artist is to create joy.
People love to talk about happiness. But no one knows that the greatest happiness is in understanding.
One of the foundations of writing is a good memory.
Waiting for happy days is sometimes better than these very days.
The romantic mood does not allow a person to be deceitful, ignorant, cowardly and cruel. There is an ennobling power in romance.
Nature teaches us to understand beauty.
Inspiration enters us like a radiant summer morning, just casting off the mists of a quiet night, splashed with dew, with thickets of damp foliage. It gently breathes its healing coolness into our faces.
If you take away a person’s ability to dream, then one of the most powerful motivations that gives rise to culture, art, science and the desire to fight for a wonderful future will disappear.
We still stubbornly neglect the beauty of nature and do not know the full power of its cultural and moral impact on humans.
Our greatest regret is the excessive and unjustified speed of time... Before you know it, your youth is fading and your eyes are dimming. And yet you have not yet seen even a hundredth part of the charm that life has scattered around.
And in the evening, somewhere near the forest waters, a man sits down by a fire and silence settles next to him.
The romantic mood does not allow a person to be deceitful, ignorant, cowardly and cruel. There is an ennobling power in romance.
Inspiration is like first love, when the heart beats loudly in anticipation of amazing meetings, unimaginably beautiful eyes, smiles and omissions.
The nights were already long, heavy, like insomnia. The dawn slowed down more and more, it kept getting delayed and reluctantly seeped into the unwashed windows...
Writing is not a craft or an occupation. Writing is a calling.
The clearer the air, the brighter the sunlight. The more transparent the prose, the more perfect its beauty and the more strongly it resonates in the human heart.
There are stories that flash by and disappear like birds, but remain forever in the memory of people who have become their unwitting eyewitnesses.
It’s better to love from afar, but it’s necessary to love, otherwise it’s over. This is how you wander everywhere - on trains, on ships, in the streets, at noon and at dawn - thinking about beautiful things, unwritten books, fighting, dying, wasting yourself.
Autumn morning
There was a noise; The field pipe announced my solitude, And with the image of my mistress, the last dream flew away. The shadow of the night has already rolled down from the sky. The dawn has risen, the pale day is shining - And all around me there is dull desolation... She is no longer there... I was at the shores, Where my dear walked on a clear evening; On the shore, in the green meadows, I did not find any barely visible traces left by her beautiful foot. Wandering thoughtfully in the depths of the forests, I pronounced the name of the incomparable; I called her - and the lonely voice of the Empty Valleys called her into the distance. He came to the stream, attracted by dreams; Its streams flowed slowly, the unforgettable image did not tremble in them. She's gone!.. Until sweet spring I said goodbye to bliss and to my soul. Already with autumn's cold hand the heads of birches and lindens are bare, She rustles in the deserted oak groves; There, day and night, a yellow leaf swirls, There is fog on the chilled waves, And an instant whistling of the wind is heard. Fields, hills, familiar oak forests! Keepers of sacred silence! Witnesses of my melancholy, fun! You are forgotten... until sweet spring!
***
