I work even in the middle of the day, in the full sunshine, and I enjoy it like a cicada. — Vincent Van Gogh Copy Share Image
“Nobody was speaking. Only the cicadas continued their whine, indifferent to human tragedies.” — Jean-Claude Izzo Copy Share Image
Again and again, the cicada's untiring cry pierced the sultry summer air like a needle at work on thick cotton cloth. — Yukio Mishima Copy Share Image
Counting stars by candlelight all are dim but one is bright; the spiral light of Venus rising first and shining best, from… — Robert Hunter Copy Share Image
“But now I wanted nothing more than to be the girl so free that fireflies shined as her night-lights, cicadas sang her… — Meagan Church Copy Share Image
“The cicadas, as if they were wired on the same circuit, suddenly filled the garden with a loud burst of celebration.” — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
Do you know the legend about cicadas? They say they are the souls of poets who cannot keep quiet because, when they… — John Berger Copy Share Image
I guess I felt attached to my weakness. My pain and suffering too. Summer light, the smell of a breeze, the sound… — Haruki Murakami Copy Share Image
In White Summer, Joelle Biele exhibits a Roethke-like affinity with nature and natures creatures. At times a miniaturist, Biele constructs exquisite addresses… — Elizabeth Spires Copy Share Image
Don't buy society's definition of success. Because it's not working for anyone. It's not working for women, it's not working for men,… — Arianna Huffington Copy Share Image
Mama used to tell us a story about a cicada sitting high in a tree. It chirps and drinks in dew, oblivious… — Lisa See Copy Share Image
The heat is searing and superb. The paddocks surrounding the town are bleached blond. The distant ring-barked gums, mile after mile, wriggle… — Hal Porter Copy Share Image
I closed my eyes and listened to the occasional chirps of tiny birds hidden in the trees around us, the bubbling of… — Jessi Kirby Copy Share Image
The Cicada sing an endless song in the long grass, smells run along the earth and falling stars run over the sky,… — Isak Dinesen Copy Share Image
The collision of hail or rain with hard surfaces, or the song of cicadas in a summer field. These sonic events are… — Iannis Xenakis Copy Share Image
“the incessant shimmering cries of the cicadas. If the curious, blurring heat haze produced a sound, it would be exactly the strange,… — Gerald Durrell Copy Share Image
“The cicadas were singing a song. It was a one-noted, one-worded; The words sounded like "please". They were singing and singing and… — Karen Foxlee Copy Share Image
“The cicadas pierce the air with their searing one-note calls; dust eddies across the roads; from the weedy patches at the verges,… — Margaret Atwood Copy Share Image
The air was cold to the lungs, the long grass dripping wet, and the herbs on it gave out their spiced astringent… — Isak Dinesen Copy Share Image
Don't buy society’s definition of success. Because it’s not working for anyone. It’s not working for women, it's not working for men,… — Arianna Huffington Copy Share Image
A grub in filth is dirty, but it changes into a cicada and sips dew in the autumn breeze. Rotting plants have… — Zicheng Hong Copy Share Image
Cicadas, buckling and unbuckling their stomach muscles, yield the sound of someone sharpening scissors. Fall field crickets, the thermometer hounds, add high-pitched… — Diane Ackerman Copy Share Image
Who when examining in the cabinet of the entomologist the gay and exotic butterflies, and singular cicadas, will associate with these lifeless… — Charles Darwin Copy Share Image
Life is the blossoming of flowers in the spring, the ripening of fruit in the fall, the rhythm of the earth and… — Daisaku Ikeda Copy Share Image
Anyway, I'm digressing, but this is just kind of this 10-and-a-half-minute, ambient - you hear cicadas and birds and the wind outside… — Andrew Bird Copy Share Image
“How do you fancy making some dark cherry ganache with me, and we can fill these little yuzu shells with that instead?… — Hannah Tunnicliffe Copy Share Image
He was sure that he was not the cause of the abrupt silence. His passage through the canyon had not previously disturbed… — Dean Koontz Copy Share Image
“The sidewalks were haunted by dust ghosts all night as the furnace wind summoned them up, swung them about, and gentled them… — Ray Bradbury Copy Share Image
“Cicadas bury themselves in small mouths of the tree's hollow, lie against the bark tongues like amulets, though it is I who… — Richie Hofmann Copy Share Image
