Pippin: Gandalf, forgive me. Gandalf: Look at me. What did you see? Pippin: A tree. There was a white tree in a courtyard of stone. It was dead. The city was burning. Gandalf: Minas Tirith? Is that what you saw? Pippin: I saw... I saw him. I can hear...
Nala: Have you guys seen Simba? Timon: I thought he was with you. Nala: He was but now I can't find him. Where is he? [We hear Rafiki's laugh. He's sitting in a tree above them] Rafiki: You won't find him here. The king... has returned. Nala: I can't...
Lefebvre summarises this march of clock-time through society and nature (1991: 95–6). He argues that the lived time experienced in and through nature has gradually disappeared. Time is no longer something that is visible and inscribed within space....
Sweep the broom Over sand and stone. Softly, gently, Brush away the dust. Listen to the leaves As they sing in the tree. Peace fills the soul When living well.
In a cool solitude of trees Where leaves and birds a music spin, Mind that was weary is at ease, New rhythms in the soul begin.
Go and play. Run around. Build something. Break something. Climb a tree. Get dirty. Get in some trouble. Have some fun.
The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong.
Outside the hospital, I squinted in the harsh morning sunlight. I could hear birds chirping in the tree, but even though I searched for them, they remained hidden from me.
It felt bizarre to be ignored in general, much less by an embodiment of Aidan--who used to stare at her so hard that he'd run into trees.
I love the start of autumn when the trees in my garden change the colour of their leaves in one last dazzling display.
When I started to climb, the sky seemed to be sunny and blue. But being up here on the oak tree it is cloudy and foggy.
Just as trees bear their fruit before winter, just as bamboo grass produces its seeds just before it withers, sex is simply a struggle with death on the human level.
Because a sound tree doesn't have bad roots, Amara. No enterprise of greatness begins with treachery, with lying to the people who trust and love you
Have you ever chopped down something with an ax? Not fun. I now have serious doubts regarding George Washington and his cherry tree.
The world doesn't fully make sense until the writer has secured his version of it on the page. And the act of writing is strangely more lifelike than life.
Shadows were too black, and when a breeze stirred the trees, the shadows changed in a disquieting way.
Garbage in, garbage out. Or rather more felicitously: the tree of nonsense is watered with error, and from its branches swing the pumpkins of disaster.
A strong wind sang sadly as it bent the trees in front of the Hall. A half moon shone through the dark, flying clouds on to the wild and empty moor.
You know," I said to Michael, "my girlfriend took him down with a broken tree branch." "Too bad she isn't here," he said.
Well? Is it true? Did she?" "Did she what?" "You know. Fall outta the crazy tree and hit every branch on the way down?
Tall and built like a dense forest, Clint's broad shoulders made a girl want to learn how to scale trees. Except me. I wanted to start a forest fire.
