As by the way of innuendo Lucus is made a non lucendo.

Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong.

It was the noise Of ancient trees falling while all was still Before the storm, in the long interval Between the gathering clouds and that light breeze Which Germans call the Wind's bride.

But, for all that, they had a very pleasant walk. The trees were bare of leaves, and the river was bare of water-lilies; but the sky was not bare of its beautiful blue, and the water reflected it, and a delicious wind ran with the stream, touching the surface crisply.

To copy beauty forfeits all pretense to fame; to copy faults is want of sense.

Those who would make us feel, must feel themselves.