Flower Quotes by Willa Cather

Oh, this is the joy of the rose; That it blows, And goes.

— Willa Cather

Our tree became the talking tree of the fairy tale; legends and stories nestled like birds in its branches.

— Willa Cather

Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.

— Willa Cather

Oh, that's the beauty of the rose, that it blossoms and dies.

— Willa Cather

On the farm the weather was the great fact, and men's affairs went on underneath it, as the streams creep under the…

— Willa Cather

“The wild roses were wide open and brilliant, the blue-eyed grass was in purple flower, and the silvery milkweed was just coming…

— Willa Cather

“The glorious transmutation of autumn had come on: all the vast Canadian shores were clothed with a splendour never seen in France;…

— Willa Cather

There was only - spring itself, the throb of it, the light restlessness, the vital essence of it everywhere; in the sky,…

— Willa Cather

“... the wind sprang up afresh, with a kind of bitter song, as if it said: "This is reality, whether you like…

— Willa Cather

The air and the earth interpenetrated in the warm gusts of spring; the soil was full of sunlight, and the sunlight full…

— Willa Cather

“The pale, cold light of the winter sunset did not beautify - it was like the light of truth itself. When the…

— Willa Cather

“After that hard winter, one could not get enough of the nimble air. Every morning I wakened with a fresh consciousness that…

— Willa Cather

He domesticated and developed the native wild flowers. He had one hill-side solidly clad with that low-growing purple verbena which mats over…

— Willa Cather

“Carl sat musing until the sun leaped above the prairie, and in the grass about him all the small creatures of day…

— Willa Cather

“While the train flashed through never-ending miles of ripe wheat, by country towns and bright-flowered pastures and oak groves wilting in the…

— Willa Cather