Beech Tree Quotes

“On a quiet day, when the wind was still, the creek could be heard all the way up to where the old beech stood. Under its branches, cats would come to dream and be dreamed.”
― Charles de Lint, A Circle of Cats

“It seemed a mere toss-up whether she said, ‘I love you,’ or whether she said, ‘I love the beech-trees,’ or only ‘I love—I love.”
― Virginia Woolf, Night and Day

“I may love him, I may love him, for he is a man, and I am only a beech-tree.”
― George MacDonald, Phantastes

“It seemed a mere toss-up whether she said, 'I love you," or whether she said, 'I love the beech-trees,' or only 'I love--I love.”
― Virginia Woolf, Night and Day

“On a quiet day, when the wind was still, the creek could be heard all the way up to where the old beech stood. Under its branches, cats would come to dream and be dreamed. Black cats and calicos, white cats and marmalade ones, too. But they hadn't yet gathered on the day the orphan girl fell asleep among its roots, nestling in the weeds and long grass like the gangly, tousle-haired girl she was.

Her name was Lillian.”
― Charles de Lint, A Circle of Cats

“On a quiet day, when the wind was still, the creek could be heard all the way up to where the old beech stood. Under its branches, cats would come to dream and be dreamed. Black cats and calicos, white cats and marmalade ones, too. Sometimes they exchanged gossip or told stories about L'il Pater, the trickster cat. More often they lay in a drowsy circle around the fat trunk of the ancient beech that spread its boughs above them. Then one of them might tell a story of the old and powerful Father of Cats, and though the sun might still be high and the day warm, they would shiver and groom themselves with nervous tongues.

But they hadn't yet gathered on the day the orphan girl fell asleep among the beech's roots, nestling in the weeds and long grass like the gangly, tousle-haired girl she was.

Her name was Lillian Kindred.”
― Charles de Lint, The Cats of Tanglewood Forest

“Reaching for air and light the beech trees had grown very tall. One’s eyes traveled up and up the immense height of the silver trunks, past the various platforms of green leaves to where the blue of the upper air showed through them. The final platforms were so high that the blue of the blue-green pattern seemed no further away in space than the green; but one tree had decided to be content with a lowly position, had grown only a short height on a slender silver stem and then spread out her arms and wings like a dancing fairy. Below on the floor of the wood the colors showed jewel-bright above the warm russet of the beechmast. The cushions of moss about the roots of the trees were emerald and there were clumps of small bright purple toadstools, and others rose-colored on top and quilted white satin underneath.”
― Elizabeth Goudge, The White Witch

“They reined in before an ancient beech tree. Its trunk and branches leaned inland, bent by many years of ocean breezes. Half-buried beneath a root that arched out of the ground was a rectangular slab of stone that didn't seem to fit the landscape. Annis pointed to it. "What is that stone doing there?"
"It's a menhir," the marquess said. At Annis's puzzled expression, he explained. "One of the standing stones---well, this one has fallen over, but there are several stone circles in Dorset. If there was once a circle here---a henge, it's called---it's gone now. The stones have probably been pressed into other uses, fences or walls. I expect this one was too large to move."
"I don't know what a henge is," Annis said. Intrigued, she swung down from her saddle and bent to put her hand on the cool, rough surface of the stone. "Have you touched it? It feels alive!"
He laughed and slid down to join her beside the stone. He laid his own hand on it, right beside hers, then shook his head. "It doesn't feel alive to me, I'm afraid. It just feels cold and rough and old. A henge is a stone circle, you know, from ancient times. A ceremonial circle, we think. No one knows exactly what it was for.”
― Louisa Morgan, The Age of Witches