grass

In the plains the grass grows tall, since there is no one to cut it. There is no one to water it either.

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")

Do you have a personal mantra? Mine comes from a childhood song. "Wherever I go the grass grows greener.

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.

If the shrike did not eat the grasshoppers, then the grasshoppers would eat all the grass, and there would be none left for the deer...and the deer are food for the tiger. Life in the jungle is a giant spiderweb; if you touch one strand, it will vibrate at the other end. We cannot separate nature into good and bad, Rita. The gods do not will it so.

I was actually born in L.A. My sisters and I were playing in a parking lot, and my dad was like, 'Nah, nah, nah. Let's go give 'em some grass.'

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.

Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

I used my imagination to make the grass whatever color I wanted it to be.

God, I can push the grass apart and lay my finger on Thy heart.

I'm thankful to be breathing, on this side of the grass. Whatever comes, comes.

That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

I love the long grass coming up to meet the willows.

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

To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug.

There is not a sprig of grass that shoots uninteresting to me.

A few of the world's most famous non-American novelists have large followings in the United States, among them Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Guenter Grass, who were both popular even before winning the Nobel.

The grass is yellow on both sides, envy turning on of them green.