Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint you can on it.
What is pertinent is the calmness of beauty, its sense of restraint. It is as though the land knows of its own beauty, its own greatness, and feels no need to shout it…
For a great many people, the evening is the most enjoyable part of the day. Perhaps, then, there is something to his advice that I should cease looking back so much, that I should adopt a more positive outlook and try to make the best of what remains of my day. After all, what can we ever gain in forever looking back and blaming ourselves if our lives have not turned out quite as we might have wished?
~Kazuo Ishiguro from The Remains of the Day
…still it’s not death that spends So tenderly this treasure To leaf-rich golden winds, But life in lavish measure.
No, it’s not death this year Since then and all the pain. It’s life we harvest here (Sun on the crimson vine). The garden speaks your name. We drink your joys like wine. ~May Sarton, from “The First Autumn”
Is there something finished? And some new beginning on the way?
I cried over beautiful things, knowing no beautiful thing lasts… ~Carl Sandburg, from “Falltime” and “Autumn Movement”
I praise the fall:
It is the human season. On this sterile air Do words outcarry breath: the sound goes on and on. I hear a dead man’s cry from autumn long since gone.
I cry to you beyond upon this bitter air. ~Archiblad MacLeish from “Immortal Autumn”