Blade of grass Quotes

“It doesn't matter how green a blade of grass is expected to be, when it's already smashed beneath the feet.”

“How much power is there in a thousand noisy engines? I tell you, there is more power in a single blade of grass.”

“A blade of grass is a commonplace on Earth; it would be a miracle on Mars. Our descendants on Mars will know the value of a patch of green. And if a blade of grass is priceless, what is the value of a human being?”

“There was something wonderful about the atmosphere at Stony Cross Park. One could easily imagine it as some magical place set in some far-off land. The surrounding forest was so deep and thick as to be primeval in appearance, while the twelve-acre garden behind the manor seemed too perfect to be real. There were groves, glades, ponds, and fountains. It was a garden of many moods, alternating tranquility with colorful tumult. A disciplined garden, every blade of grass precisely clipped, the corners of the box hedges trimmed to knife blade crispness. Hatless, gloveless, and infused with a sudden sense of optimism, Annabelle breathed deeply of the country air. She skirted the edge of the terraced gardens at the back of the manor and followed a graveled path set between raised beds of poppies and geraniums. The atmosphere soon became thick with the perfume of flowers, as the path paralleled a drystone wall covered with tumbles of pink and cream roses.Wandering more slowly, Annabelle crossed through an orchard of ancient pear trees, sculpted by decades into fantastic shapes. Farther off, a canopy of silver birch led to woodland beds that appeared to melt seamlessly into the forest beyond.”

“The fulness of the godhead dwelt in every blade of grass.”

“The landscape looks different from every blade of grass.”

“There is not one blade of grass, there is no color in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice.”

“Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond.”

“I want you here. I don't care if it's a hundred degrees and every blade of grass dies. Without you, none of that matters to me.”

“Against barbarity, poetry can resist only by confirming its attachment to human fragility like a blade of grass growing on a wall while armies march by.”