Cicadas Quotes

On this page you will find all the quotes on the topic "Cicadas". There are currently 20 quotes in our collection about Cicadas. Discover the TOP 10 sayings about Cicadas!
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  • A grub in filth is dirty, but it changes into a cicada and sips dew in the autumn breeze. Rotting plants have no luster, but they turn into foxfire and glow in the summer moonlight. So we know that purity emerges from impurity, and light is born from darkness.

    Summer   Dirty   Autumn  
  • The heat is searing and superb. The paddocks surrounding the town are bleached blond. The distant ring-barked gums, mile after mile, wriggle in the heat-waves, and seem to melt like the bristles of a melting hairbrush. The hills turn powder-blue and gauzy. Mirages resembling pools of mica and shallows of crystal water appear at the far ends of streets and roads. Punctually at eleven every burning morning, the cicadas begin to drill the air, to drill themselves also, ceaselessly and relentlessly, to death in one short day after seven long years underground.

    Morning   Nature   Air  
  • The collision of hail or rain with hard surfaces, or the song of cicadas in a summer field. These sonic events are made out of thousands of isolated sounds; this multitude of sounds, seen as totality, is a new sonic event.

    Summer   Song   Rain  
    Iannis Xenakis (1992). “Formalized Music: Thought and Mathematics in Composition”, p.9, Pendragon Press
  • Who when examining in the cabinet of the entomologist the gay and exotic butterflies, and singular cicadas, will associate with these lifeless objects, the ceaseless harsh music of the latter, and the lazy flight of the former - the sure accompaniments of the still, glowing noonday of the tropics.

    Butterfly   Gay   Glowing  
    Charles Darwin (1864). “Journal of Researches Into the Natural History and Geology of the Countries Visited During the Voyage of H.M.S. Beagle Round the World: Under the Command of Capt. Fitz Roy”, p.299
  • Calm and serene The sound of a cicada Penetrates the rock.

    Nature   Rocks   Sound  
  • Do you know the legend about cicadas? They say they are the souls of poets who cannot keep quiet because, when they were alive, they never wrote the poems they wanted to.

    Soul   Alive   Legends  
    John Berger (2012). “G. John Berger”, p.197, A&C Black
  • I work even in the middle of the day, in the full sunshine, and I enjoy it like a cicada.

    Work   Sunshine   Cicadas  
    Vincent van Gogh, Ronald Pickvance (1984). “Van Gogh in Arles”, p.27, Metropolitan Museum of Art
  • In White Summer, Joelle Biele exhibits a Roethke-like affinity with nature and natures creatures. At times a miniaturist, Biele constructs exquisite addresses to a heron, cicada, spider, catalpa tree, mockingbird, snail, cormorant, and others. These pitch-perfect poems are written with a delicate, meticulous attention to craft and music. Like the joy she takes in her subjects, this collection is a joy to read.

    Summer   White   Perfect  
  • Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die

    Cicadas   Cry   Dies  
    Matsuo Basho (2006). “Narrow Road to the Interior”, p.132, Shambhala Publications
  • Mama used to tell us a story about a cicada sitting high in a tree. It chirps and drinks in dew, oblivious to the praying mantis behind it. The mantis arches up its front leg to stab the cicada, but it doesn't know an oriole perches behind it. The bird stretches out its neck to snap up the mantis for a midday meal, but its unaware of the boy who's come into the garden with a net. Three creatures—the cicada, the mantis and the oriole—all coveted gains without being aware of the greater and inescapable danger that was coming.

  • 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, it's not working for polar bears, it's not working for the cicadas that are apparently about to emerge and swarm us. It’s only truly working for those who make pharmaceuticals for stress, sleeplessness and high blood pressure.

    Arianna Huffington's Commencement Address at Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts, www.smith.edu. May 19, 2013.
  • The air was cold to the lungs, the long grass dripping wet, and the herbs on it gave out their spiced astringent scent. In a little while on all sides the Cicada would begin to sing. The grass was me , and the air, the distant invisible mountains were me, the tired oxen were me. I breathed with the slight night-wind in the thorn trees.

    Isak Dinesen (1938). “Out of Africa”
  • Counting stars by candlelight all are dim but one is bright; the spiral light of Venus rising first and shining best, from the northwest corner of a brand-new crescent moon crickets and cicadas sing a rare and different tune.

    Stars   Moon   Light  
    Robert Hunter, David G. Dodd (2005). “The Complete Annotated Grateful Dead Lyrics: The Collected Lyrics of Robert Hunter and John Barlow, Lyrics to All Original Songs, with Selected Traditional and Cover Songs”, p.263, Simon and Schuster
  • He was sure that he was not the cause of the abrupt silence. His passage through the canyon had not previously disturbed either birds or cicadas. Something was out there. An intruder of which the ordinary forest creatures clearly did not approve. He took a deep breath and held it again, straining to hear the slightest movement in the woods. This time he detected the rustle of brush, a snapping twig, the soft crunch of dry leaves-and the unnervingly peculiar, heavy, ragged breathing of something big.

  • The Cicada sing an endless song in the long grass, smells run along the earth and falling stars run over the sky, like tears over a cheek. You are the privileged person to whom everything is taken. The Kings of Tarshish shall bring gifts.

    Running   Song   Kings  
    Isak Dinesen (1987). “Out of Africa”, Crown Pub
  • I closed my eyes and listened to the occasional chirps of tiny birds hidden in the trees around us, the bubbling of water over rocks down below, cicadas rattling a chorus off in the distance. All sounds of the world carrying on like it always had. So much could change or be lost, and still, the rest of the world went on like it was nothing. It didn't seem wrong, but it didn't seem right either. I'd gone on today like it was nothing. I'd laughed and felt happy and forgotten for a little while that this was now a world without my brother in it.

    Brother   Distance   Eye  
  • I guess I felt attached to my weakness. My pain and suffering too. Summer light, the smell of a breeze, the sound of cicadas - if I like these things, why should I apologize?

    Summer   Pain   Light  
    "A Wild Sheep Chase". Book by Haruki Murakami, 1982.
  • Life is the blossoming of flowers in the spring, the ripening of fruit in the fall, the rhythm of the earth and of nature. Life is the cry of cicadas signalling the end of summer, migratory birds winging south in a transparent autumn sky, fish frolicking in a stream. Life is the joy beautiful music installs in us, the thrilling sight of a mountain peak reddened by the rising sun, the myriad combinations and permutations of visible and invisible phenomena. Life is all things.

  • 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 and crickets as I'm swelling the piece. I could never do that on a pop record. I could, but why would I want to be agitating?

    Wind   Bird   Pieces  
    Interview with Genevieve Koski, music.avclub.com. January 20, 2009.
  • Again and again, the cicada's untiring cry pierced the sultry summer air like a needle at work on thick cotton cloth.

    Summer   Air   Cotton  
    Yukio Mishima (1990). “Runaway Horses”, Vintage
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