In the dark of the trees he could smell splintered wood…

“Years later, I remember the waxy taste of the yellow paint, the papery taste of splintered wood, the sharp metallic of the graphite.”

— Alexandria Marzano-Lesnevich

Stars. Trees breathe in starlight year after year, and it goes deep into their bones. So when you cut a tree open, you smell…

— Frances O'Roark Dowell

“The faint metallic smell of the falling snow surrounds her. calm yourself. Listen. Cars splash along streets, and snowmelt drums through runnels; she can…

— Anthony Doerr

“After a long day of screaming at the trees, I smell like a skyscraper. Would you care to ride on my elevator shaft?”

— Jarod Kintz

“To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but (s)he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find…

— Friedrich Nietzsche

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep but I have promises to keep…

— Robert Frost

They whirled past the dark trees, as feathers would be swept before a hurricane. Houses, gates, churches, hay-stacks, objects of every kind they shot…

— Charles Dickens

“Over the balustrade I could see the dark trees of Webster Groves and the more distant TV-tower lights that marked the boundaries of my…

— Jonathan Franzen

So, now I shall talk every night. To myself. To the moon. I shall walk, as I did tonight, jealous of my loneliness, in…

— Sylvia Plath

“Snow was falling, so much like stars filling the dark trees that one could easily imagine its reason for being was nothing more than…

— Mary Oliver

“It was almost totally dark out, but the trees were casting their shadows on the ground because the moon was out—and it was incredibly…

— Anonymous

“One of my wishes is that those dark trees. So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze. Were not, as 'twere, the merest…

— Robert Frost

No my friend, darkness is not everywhere, for here and there I find faces illuminated from within; paper lanterns among the dark trees

— Carole Borges

I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of…

— Friedrich Nietzsche

The earth covered with a sable pall as for the burial of yesterday; the clumps of dark trees, its giant plumes of funeral feathers,…

— Charles Dickens