Hayfield Quotes & Sayings

The patch of lawn before it had relapsed into a hayfield; but to the left an overgrown box-garden full of dahlias and rusty rose-bushes encircled a ghostly summer-house of trellis-work that had once been white, surmounted by a wooden Cupid who had lost his bow and arrow but continued to take ineffectual aim. — Edith Wharton

A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and flagrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway. — Charlotte Bronte

The art of happiness is being content with what you have,' she would say, looking with apparent satisfaction out of the dusty windows at the garden, yellowing like an uncut hayfield in the October sunshine. — Philippa Gregory

Never mind the milk, comrades!" cried Napoleon, placing himself in front of the buckets. "That will be attended to. The harvest is more important. Comrade Snowball will lead the way. I shall follow in a few minutes. Forward, comrades! The hay is waiting."
So the animals trooped down to the hayfield to begin the harvest, and when they came back in the evening it was noticed that the milk had disappeared. — George Orwell

John Bunyan, while he had a surpassing genius, would not condescend to cull his language from the garden of flowers; but he went into the hayfield and the meadow, and plucked up his language by the roots, and spoke out in the words that the people used in their cottages. — Charles Spurgeon

I couldn't get my mind off you all day." He spoke as he yanked her shirt over her head, right where she stood. Once that was gone, he moved his hands down to unfasten her jeans. He pushed them and her underwear to the floor in one motion. "I mowed that whole damn hayfield with a hard-on because of you. — Cat Johnson

It's the journeys we make you said not our sins that we have to account for: places we passed on a road and failed to recognise: the light in a gap between trees that we barely noticed storms above a hayfield like the black in monochrome the neither here nor there of detours or oncoming traffic. It's the lives we failed to lead lost in a stalled conversation or glancing away to cottonwoods and miles of blue-stemmed grass and everything we miss each least detail patterns and lines in the packed silt around a mooring windows flecked with light and water shades of grey in this or any other afternoon. — John Burnside