Vines Quotes Novels & Stories

Vines reached out tentatively, brushing against my ankles like affectionate cats. "What are you trying to tell me?" I whispered, kneeling to touch a particularly insistent patch of foxglove that was waving frantically in a non-existent breeze. Ava whined again, directing my attention to the massive oak. The pulling sensation drew me forward until I stood before its gnarled trunk, my palm pressed against the rough bark. *She calls to you.* The words weren't spoken aloud but seemed to form directly in my mind—a chorus of whispers from every plant in the garden, unified into a single message.

In my front yard, I have a fair-sized garden and a pond with goldfish swimming around. The walls of the cottage are covered in long bright golden Pothos vines. They are green and yellow with small thorns. The plants have always wanted to be close to me. I planted these vines when I was a little girl, and they have grown with me my whole life. I brought them with me when I moved up here and I planted them in a garden bed beside my cottage. The vines are enchanted to keep me safe. If an unwanted person tries to come in my cottage the vines will create an unbreakable barrier over my entire home, preventing anyone from entering.

The girl needed some air to breath before that happened. After recovering from the shock, Dave looked at him. His face serious. "You do realise you are only pushing her away by doing this?" Dave said, making his frown turn deeper. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Have you heard the story of the vine and the rose?" Nate's clueless expression gave him the answer and he began, "A lonely vine searched the wild to find something that he can call his own. It is then he saw a blooming rose and fell for its beauty. He crept closer, convinced she needed his protection to survive in this cruel wild. The tender, vulnerable rose welcomed him, considering him a friend. He curled himself around her with dev

I aim for the vines. That tree. That weird-ass tree with the figure-eight spiral of vines wrapping up the trunk like nature's own neon sign. That's my anchor, my breadcrumb, if I hit that, I hit the trail, if I hit the trail, I hit the door. If I hit the door, I'm free.

The vines screams slowly in the way my ears suddenly ring with pressure and guilt. I remember what the Mother Tree said: They don't hate that they just might be hungry. I slice through the vines cleanly, and this time I offer them something in return-a drop of blood on a leaf, pressed into the earth. "Let me pass. I seek only passage." The vines retreat, reluctantly. The path clears. Winthrop mutters, "Next time, let's take the road with fewer mouthy plants." I don't answer. My knees are shaking. But I keep walking.

"It only understands pressure. My grandfather used to say that wine is fruit that has learned how to suffer. You can't rush the process. If you force the juice out it gets angry. You have to be gentle with it." I leaned against the handle of the shovel. I was breathing hard. "My father did not believe in being gentle. He believed in getting out as possible in a short time. He used to say that being patient was a sign of not having the tools." Marco stopped turning the lever. He wiped his brow with his arm. His arm was stained with juice. "Look where that got him. A big building made of glass and a daughter who had to run to a vineyard to find herself. Having the right tools is a way of sayin

Evin then smiled and said, "Ah seems like that did the trick! that's great, Mez how do you feel?" "I feel like umm... myself? but with enhanced skills of course haha!" "See, I told you I'm a natural at this." However, before he could finish his sentence all the vines that had cowered into the corner to make room for the circle suddenly fell over him, they started grappling around his legs and arms and the overwhelming weight of the vines pulled him down. I tried to pull them apart but to no avail, I then heard his muffled voice saying, "Hey Mez, don't touch them, it only gets worse, just give me a second and I'll be up! Haha, this always happens, never mind!"

I muttered, “you didn’t know what a hair wrap was.” “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll explain. Vine is just another social media sharing service, this one for short three-to-seven second videos. People use it to post pranks, music, journalism crap, comedy, political stuff and shit like that. My profile is strictly comedy skits. Actually, it’s not just my page. My sister, Caroline, and I share it. She learned a bunch of neat editing tricks in college and taught me some, so a year ago when I got started in it, I asked her for a little help, and…” He rolled his eyes. “You know sisters. She butted her way in until we were splitting the page, fifty-fifty.”

The compelling allure of claiming his heart's desire clashed with the prudent counsel of reason, leaving him suspended in a liminal space of uncertainty. In the hush of the vineyard, he sought refuge in the company of the winemaker, a wise and weathered soul who had witnessed the ebb and flow of countless stories unfold amidst the vines. As they conversed, the winemaker imparted timeless wisdom that resonated with Welbeck’s soul. "Life's journey is a delicate balance between holding on and letting go. Sometimes, the most profound victories arise from the courage to claim what the heart craves. But remember, my friend, that love is a symphony woven from harmonious choices and steadfast commit

“I’m not a hero.” “I’m the villain remember,” he reminded me with a grin. “All good villains know how to identify heroes.” He turned his attention to the vine, and the plant pulled back, the vines withering, the flowers and leaves falling, until there was nothing but the faintest shadow on the stone to indicate that it had ever existed at all.