Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple.
When witches go riding, and black cats are seen, the moon laughs and whispers, 'tis near Halloween.
I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house.
Autumn wins you best by this, its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
I would rather sit on a pumpkin, and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion.
Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.
There is something incredibly nostalgic and significant about the annual cascade of autumn leaves.
Even if something is left undone, everyone must take time to sit still and watch the leaves turn.
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
Autumn...the year's last, loveliest smile.
Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.
I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.
Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.