Poplar Quotes

#1. A strange thing surely that my Heart, when love had come unsought
Upon the Norman upland or in that poplar shade,
Should find no burden but itself and yet should be worn out.
It could not bear that burden and therefore it went mad. #Quote by William Butler Yeats

#2. Back in Poplar, everyone had known that the King was being led astray by evil advisers and Catholic plots, and the Parliament was full of brave, honest, clear-sighted men who wanted the best for everybody. It had been so obvious! It had been common sense! . . .

But here in Grizehayes, it was just as obvious to everybody that a power-hungry Parliament driven to frenzy by crazy Puritans was trying to steal power from the rightful King. Neither side seemed to be stupid, and both were equally certain.

Was I raised by Puritans? I believed what they believed back then. Were we all frothing mad? Or was I right then, and am I mad now? #Quote by Frances Hardinge

#3. Around three a.m. he feels a presence in the room. He sees, for the pulse of a moment, a figure at the foot of his bed, against the wall or painted onto it perhaps, not quite discernible in the darkness of foliage beyond the candlelight. He mutters something, something he had wanted to say, but there is silence and the slight brown figure, which could be just a night shadow, does not move. A poplar. A man with plumes. A swimming figure. And he would not be so lucky, he thinks, to speak to the young sapper again.
He stays awake in any case this night, to see if the figure moves towards him. Ignoring the tablet that brings painlessness, he will remain awake till the light dies out and the smell of candle smoke drifts into his room and into the girl's room farther down the hall. If the figure turns around there will be paint on his back, where he slammed in grief against the mural of trees. When the candle dies out he will be able to see this.
His hand reaches out slowly and touches his book and returns to his dark chest. Nothing else moves in the room. [298] #Quote by Michael Ondaatje

#4. Alas, the objects I had assembled wander away. The young poplar dims and takes off to return where it had been fetched from. The brick wall dissolves. The house draws in its little balconies one by one, then turns, and floats away. Everything floats away. Harmony and meaning vanish. The world irks me again with its variegated void. #Quote by Vladimir Nabokov

#5. Nestled... In the dappled Spring sunlight
peeking through oaks, maples, and Tulip poplar
is a country house with pale-yellow siding.
Across a corner of the weathered,
wooden-slatted front porch, a vine lazily
stretches to find a spot in the sun. #Quote by Christina M. Ward

#6. We saw the strong trees struggle and their plumes do down, The poplar bend and whip back till it split to fall, The elm tear up at the root and topple like a crown, The pine crack at the base - we had to watch them all. The ash, the lovely cedar. We had to watch them fall. They went so softly under the loud flails of air, Before that fury they went down like feathers, With all the hundred springs that flowered in their hair, and all the years, endured in all the weathers - To fall as if they were nothing, as if they were feathers. #Quote by May Sarton

#7. The Gods on the death of his wife Yang Kai-hui I lost my proud poplar and you your willow As poplar and willow they soar straight up into the ninth heaven and ask the prisoner of the moon, Wu Kang' what is there. He offers them wine from the cassia tree. The lonely lady on the moon, Chang 0, spreads her vast sleeves and dances for these good souls in the unending sky. Down on earth a sudden report of the tiger's defeat. Tears fly down from a great upturned bowl of rain. #Quote by Mao Zedong

#8. After tea it's back to painting - a large poplar at dusk with a gathering storm. From time to time instead of this evening painting session I go bowling in one of the neighbouring villages, but not very often. #Quote by Gustav Klimt

#9. Fanny May Leak
Born Poplar, London 1886 #Quote by Russell Ash

#10. The only thing I'll never have is what I have lost for ever and ever ... As long as I live, until I draw my last breath, I shall remember Asel and all those beautiful things that were ours. The day I was to leave I went to the lake and stood on the rise above it. I was saying good-bye to the Tien Shan mountains, to Issyk-Kul. Good-bye, Issyk-Kul, my unfinished song! How I wish I could take you with me, your blue waters and your yellow shores, but I can't, just as I can't take the woman I love with me. Goodbye, Asel. Good-bye, my pretty poplar in a red kerchief! Good-bye, my love, I want you to be happy ... #Quote by Chingiz Aitmatov

#11. Diamond Jubilee with him for extra contrition. Her father was clearly exhausted, sleeping almost all the time now, like an aged dog. Why didn't he just go? Was he hanging on for a hundred? Two more years of this? It was mere existence - an amoeba had more life. "The triumph of the human spirit," the new nursing sister said, new enough to talk about "positive outcomes" and "enhancement programmes" - emollient management-speak, meaningless to most of the residents of Poplar Hill, who were either dying or demented or both. It was called a "care home" but there was precious little of either to be had when you were run by a profit-based health-care provider employing #Quote by Kate Atkinson

#12. Stand back you fool! Can't you see I have no idea what I'm doing? (Clark shouts, while felling a poplar with a chainsaw) #Quote by Clark A. Lawrence

#13. At the first light of the dawn
the loner knight asked:
"Do you happen to know-
the abode of The Beloved?"

The skies went silent,
save their mournful clouds,
save their falling stars.

The pilgrim gave up his glowing twig-
to the gloom of the sands-
and replied:

"Don't you see that poplar tree?
Well, right before the tree,
There is a lane that you'll reckon, I deem.
For it is greener than a heavenly dream,
For it is generously shaded-
with the deep blue's of love.

Well, if you See!

So walk down that lane,
You'll arrive to the garden of sense;
Turn to the direction of the loner lake;
Listen to the genial hymn of leaves;
Watch the eternal fountain-
that flows from the spring of ancient myths-
till you fade away-
In a plain fear.

When a rigid noise-
Clatters into the fluid intimacy of the space,
you'll find a child-
on the top of a tree-
next to the nest of owls-
in hope of a golden egg.

Well, if you See.

You may be sure: The Child will show you the way.

Well,
If you just ask about-
The Abode of The Beloved. #Quote by Sohrab Sepehri

#14. Too many good docs are getting out of the business. Too many OB/GYN's aren't able to practice their love with women all across the country.
(Poplar Bluff, Missouri, 6 September, 2004) #Quote by George W. Bush

#15. The winter oak ... is very useful in buildings but when in a moist place it takes in water to its centre ... and so it rots. The Turkey oak and the beech both ... take in moisture to their centre and soon decay. White and black poplar , as well as willow , linden , and the agnus castus ... are of great service from their stiffness ... they are a convenient material to use in carving. #Quote by Marcus Vitruvius Pollio

#16. If you know the differences between an oak and a poplar, a spruce and a pine, down to the needles ... you are able to paint that tree with more conviction, even if done with a few broad strokes. #Quote by T. Allen Lawson

#17. She wanders on like a poplar leaf borne upon a whirlwind of unconscious associations, she, her youth, her illusions and her former happiness remembered now through the mists of a ruined mind. #Quote by Comte De Lautreamont

#18. Her ivory hands on the ivory keys
Strayed in a fitful fantasy,
Like the silver gleam when the poplar trees
Rustle their pale leaves listlessly,
Or the drifting foam of a restless sea
When the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze. #Quote by Oscar Wilde

#19. Trees that, like the poplar, lift upward all their boughs, give no shade and no shelter, whatever their height. Trees the most lovingly shelter and shade us, when, like the willow, the higher soar their summits, the lower drop their boughs. #Quote by Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton

#20. Along with all those who left their countries for other shores, I belong in neither land. We are unmoored and disconnected, like these poplar seeds blown into the crevices of the buildings, into the corners of the world. #Quote by Elena Gorokhova

#21. We kept walking, our shadows moving in shifting blobs over the ground. The sound of river rocks rattled under our feet. We turned along a bend in the stream and a curtain of poplar trees came into view, shivering in the distance, showing the white backsides of their leaves. I watched them for a while until an ancient, aching sorrow rose up in my chest. It was a familiar feeling. Something in the mute, unconscious trees resonated inside me, something so deep and fundamental it failed to remember its own source anymore. I watched the poplars flickering against the hard blue of the sky. What is sorrow? I thought. What is sorrow but old, worn out joy? #Quote by Jon Raymond

#22. Seeing the God statement

Suppose the statement Blessed
Are the pure in heart, for they shall see
God were placed like a wreath of violets,
Lilies, laurel, and olive, blossoms strung together
Like words in a sentence, a garland
Launched, set out on a flowing creek

Imagine that wreath carried
Down the frothy rapids, tossed, floating
Slipping over water-smooth, moss-colored
Boulders, in and out of slow, dark pools,
Through poplar and willow shadows. It dips,
Sinks momentarily, emerges, travels, maitains
Its ring, its declaration and syntax.

At times it widens in a broad, deep
Current, makes sense as a gift.
The pure becomes inclusive, spatial,
Generous. God and heart are two
Spread wings of one open reading.

And at times it narrows, restricts.
Violets and heart entangle
With God. The blessed braces,
Overlaps lilies and laurel.

Still, at any point you might
reach down yourself, catch that ring
of blossoms, lift it up, wear
its beauty and blooming distinction
across your forehead. Look into a mirror.
See what you can see. #Quote by Pattiann Rogers

#23. With the passage of days in this godly isolation [desert], my heart grew calm. It seemed to fill with answers. I did not ask questions any more; I was certain. Everything - where we came from, where we are going, what our purpose is on earth - struck me as extremely sure and simple in this God-trodden isolation. Little by little my blood took on the godly rhythm. Matins, Divine Liturgy, vespers, psalmodies, the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening, the constellations suspended like chandeliers each night over the monastery: all came and went, came and went in obedience to eternal laws, and drew the blood of man into the same placid rhythm. I saw the world as a tree, a gigantic poplar, and myself as a green leaf clinging to a branch with my slender stalk. When God's wind blew, I hopped and danced, together with the entire tree. #Quote by Nikos Kazantzakis

#24. The wind lifts the whole branch of the poplar
carries it up and out and holds it there
while each leaf is the whole tree reaching
from its roots in the dark earth out through all
its rings of memory to where it has never been #Quote by W.S. Merwin

#25. The Poplar grows up straight and tall,
The Pear-tree spreads along the wall #Quote by Sara Coleridge

#26. Morning
SUN
That awakens Paris
The highest poplar on the bank
On The Eiffel Tower
A tricolored cock
Sings to the flapping of his wings
and several feathers fall
As it resumes its course
The Seine looks between the bridges
For her old route
And the Obelisk
That has forgotten the Egyptian words
Has not blossomed this year
SUN #Quote by Vicente Huidobro

#27. Where's the sun?" he asked me once.
"Behind the clouds."
"Is it always there? Even when it's cloudy?"
"Always."
"Could we see it if we climbed to the top of that poplar?"
"No."
"And if we were on a minaret?"
"No. The clouds are above the minaret."
"And if a hole was made in the clouds?"
Indeed, why don't people make holes in clouds for boys who love the sun? #Quote by Mesa Selimovic

#28. To a Poet"

Let verse of yours be flexible, but strong,
Strong as a poplar under valley's cover,
Strong as the earth under a plough, long,
Strong as a girl, who never knew a lover.

Reliably preserve severity at length,
Your verse need not be fluttering or booming,
Although the Muse has very easy steps,
She's not a dancer, but a goddess, ruling.

Frolicsome din of interrupted rhymes --
Temptation for decline, so free and so easy --
Just leave for use by jokers in a dance
On city streets for people who aren't busy.

And going out on the sacred paths,
Bring to melodiousness your chosen damnation.
You know, she's a mistress of the mass,
She craves embraces, as a dearth -- donations. #Quote by Nikolay Gumilev

#29. It is generally supposed that where there is no QUOTATION, there will be found most originality; and as people like to lay out their money according to their notions, our writers usually furnish their pages rapidly with the productions of their own soil: they run up a quickset hedge, or plant a poplar, and get trees and hedges of this fashion much faster than the former landlords procured their timber. The greater part of our writers, in consequence, have become so original, that no one cares to imitate them; and those who never quote, in return are never quoted! #Quote by Isaac D'Israeli

#30. Thank you for saying you love me. Not just for saying it, but for being brave enough to tell me how you feel.
I'm not as brave as you. And maybe I'm a little more damaged than you...carrying more baggage. I'm not ready to tell you I love you, but you do need to know that you've been the best part of my life since we met, and I can't imagine moving on without you.
I want to see where this goes. And once you're out of here, I want to date. Really date.
Until then, we need to cool off. You're really good at making me take chances. That sounds like I'm blaming you - I'm not. It's a good thing. You make me brave and wild. You excite me, and make me exciting. I don't regret the risks we've taken, but I can't take any more for a while.
And we have to talk about what happened under the poplar tree the other night. You said some things that make me want to take a big step back from this.
You asked me to do something I'd never ask of you. I didn't mean to sound cruel, bringing up your injury like I did, but it doesn't make sense that you say you love me, but want me to risk the chance to do a job I've been called to do. We need to figure that out, ok?
Thanks for reading all this. It's what's been on my mind all week, and I needed to get it off my chest. #Quote by Peter Styles

#31. They were trying to escape. They asked us "Where's the railway?" We'd never seen a railway. They asked "Where's Moscow? Leningrad?" They were asking the wrong people: we'd never heard of those places. We're Ostyaks. People were running away starving. They were given a handful of flour. They mixed it with water and drank it and then they immediately got diarrhea. The things we saw! People were dying everywhere; they were killing each other.... On the island there was a guard named Kostia Venikov, a young fellow. He was courting a pretty girl who had been sent there. He protected her. One day he had to be away for a while, and he told one of his comrades, "Take care of her," but with all the people there the comrade couldn't do much.... People caught the girl, tied her to a poplar tree, cut off her breasts, her muscles, everything they could eat, everything, everything.... They were hungry, they had to eat. When Kostia came back, she was still alive. He tried to save her, but she had lost too much blood. #Quote by Nicolas Werth

#32. From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent. #Quote by John Milton

#33. I believe that every particle of dust that dances in the sunbeam does not move an atom more or less than God wishes – that every particle of spray that dashes against the steamboat has its orbit, as well as the sun in the heavens – that the chaff from the hand of the winnower is steered as the stars in their courses. The creeping of an aphid over the rosebud is as much fixed as the march of the devastating pestilence – the fall of . . . leaves from a poplar is as fully ordained as the tumbling of an avalanche. #Quote by Charles Haddon Spurgeon

#34. The garden was planted four hundred years ago, when the surrounding area was poplar." The woman makes a sweeping gesture, and he nods in appreciation.
"And now," Less says, "it's unpoplar. #Quote by Andrew Sean Greer

#35. Th' dead ar-re always pop'lar. I knowed a society wanst to vote a monyment to a man an' refuse to help his fam'ly, all in wan night. #Quote by Finley Peter Dunne

#36. Much can they praise the trees so straight and high, The sailing pine,the cedar proud and tall, The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry, The builder oak, sole king of forests all, The aspin good for staves, the cypress funeral, The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors And poets sage, the fir that weepest still, The yew obedient to the bender's will, The birch for shafts, the sallow for the mill, The myrrh sweet-bleeding in the bitter wound, The warlike beech, the ash for nothing ill, The fruitful olive, and the platane round, The carver holm, the maple seldom inward sound. #Quote by Edmund Spenser

#37. As the youth came on in front of the others, he got the bronze in his chest beside the right nipple. On through his shoulder it went and he fell to earth in the dust like a sooth black poplar whose branchy top falls in the low grassland of a mighty marsh to the gleaming ax of some chariot-maker, who leaves t to dry by the banks of a river that he may bend him a rim for a beautiful chariot. Even such was the fall of Anthemion's son Simoeisius #Quote by Homer

#38. My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,
With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.
'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments I see,
Have a being less durable even than he. #Quote by William Cowper

#39. I resemble the poplar,
that tree which, even when old, still looks young. #Quote by Joseph Joubert

#40. Beautiful prairies, bordered by lofty hills sparsely scattered with timber, stretch around. The massive fronds of the Pinus Ponderosa replace the elegant leaflets of the Cedar, no longer found save rarely, perchance, in some deep dell moistened by a purling streamlet. Groves of aspen appear here and there. The Balsam Poplar shows itself at intervals only, along the streams. The white racemes of the Service-berry flower, and the chaste flowers of the Mock Orange, load the air with their fragrance. Every copse re-echoes with the low drumming of the ruffed Grouse; the trees resound with the muffled booming of the Cock of the Woods. The Pheasant shirrs past; the scrannel-pipe of the larger Crane -- ever a watchful sentinel -- grates harshly on the ear; and the shrill whistle of the Curlew as it soars aloft aides the general concert of the re-opined year. I speak still of Spring; for the impressions of that jocum season are ever the most vivid, and naturally recur with the greatest force in after years. -- Alexander Caulfield Anderson describing the new brigade trail between Lac la Hache and Kamloops. #Quote by Nancy Marguerite Anderson

#41. Victoria spent most of the morning in the town house's private garden. It was a cool, humid day, the sky liberally laced with clouds, the air stirring with mild breezes. She sat at the stone table and read for a while, then wandered along graveled paths bordered with boxes of lilac, jessamine, and Russian honeysuckle. The carefully tended garden was bordered by poplar hedges and ivy-covered walls. Well-stocked beds of flowering and fruit-bearing paths and filled the air with perfume.
In this small, secluded world, it seemed as if the city were a hundred miles away. It was difficult not to be contented in such beautiful surroundings. #Quote by Lisa Kleypas

#42. When she slowly straightened, the land was vast before her. The sun was setting down the river, casting a cold pink hue along the white-capped mountains that framed both sides of the valley. Upriver, the willow shrubs and gravel bars, the spruce forests and low-lying poplar stands, swelled to the mountains in steely blue. No fields or fences, homes or roads; not a single living soul as far as she could see in any direction. Only wilderness. #Quote by Eowyn Ivey

#43. The water was calm and blue today, and as they walked along the dunes they could see the hump of Poplar Island off the Eastern Shore. #Quote by Ken Grimwood

#44. The plants all know that spring will soon return,
All kinds of red and purple contend in beauty.
The poplar blossom and elm seeds are not beautiful,
They can only fill the sky with flight like snow. #Quote by Han Yu