Grass Is Greener Quotes

Maybe the grass is greener on the other side depends who was standing in it. Sometimes you have to go over there and look.

If the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, you can bet the water bill is higher.

The grass is not, in fact, always greener on the other side of the fence. No, not at all. Fences have nothing to do with it. The grass is greenest where it is watered. When crossing over fences, carry water with you and tend the grass wherever you may be.

The truth of course is that if people really were as happy as they look on the Internet, they wouldn’t spend so much damn time on the Internet, because no one who’s having a really good day spends half of it taking pictures of themselves. Anyone can nurture a myth about their life if they have enough manure, so if the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, that’s probably because it’s full of shit.

Alone of all the races on earth, they seem to be free from the 'Grass is Greener on the other side of the fence' syndrome, and roundly proclaim that Australia is, in fact, the other side of that fence.

Anyone can nurture a myth about their life if they have enough manure, so if the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, that’s probably because it’s full of shit.

A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten on the influx of better thoughts. We should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every accident that befell us.

Laugh now, cry later.

Love dies in many different ways, and it's natural for the grass to seem greener on the other side. But it's not a competition; there's plenty of pain to go around.

When a mood of "not belonging" is haunting our mind and tolling the bell for relief or happiness, life may be like a scar on the canvas of our dreams. Now is the time to wake up and slip back to the basics, in the vein of crawling back to mum's lap. ("The grass was greener over there")

The grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence. Many politicians promise green, green grass by blending niceties with delusion and by using alluring confidence tricks. They voice attractive tales and tell things, people like to hear. But the post-factual grassland often appears to be parched and barren. ("The grass was greener over there")

If the doom of failure stifles some time the path of our life, it can pin us down like downtrodden aliens, while, meanwhile, the world around is erupting in joy and contentment. Let's go back then to the nuts and bolts and consult the core of our inner self. ("The grass was greener over there")

When the sense of «not belonging» is tolling the bell for true happiness, it infuses people into accepting life as a failure, or a scar in the canvas of a vacant environment. The attachment to the little things, though, and the fleeting moments of every day can confer connection and expectation. ("The grass was greener over there")

The many unsuspected little things on our road can strike us in their innocence and cure eye blindness and deafness. They may connect us with the people, and with our selves. The sparkle of every single moment can conjure up promising expectations and new budding of imagination. ("The grass was greener over there")

Happiness is an undercurrent of sensitivity and leads a surreptitious life: it is an internal eventuality. We can feel it in stillness and it stands the test of time. Joy is an eruption of cheerful moments and we want to express it: it is an external eventuality. We might shout it out, as it conveys a dynamic of fleeting instants. Joy gives voice to “en-joy-ment”. ("The grass was greener over there")

The grass is not always greener on the other side of the fence. The grass is greenest where it is watered.

Human girls always take love for granted. They want things to be wild and carefree all the time. And when it gets too comfortable or requires a little work, they just toss it off. I’d give anything to be loved by a guy like Jay. But I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side, right?

Whoever he is who opposite you sits and listens close to your sweet speaking and lovely laughing – oh it puts the heart in my chest on wings for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking is left in me no: tongue breaks and thin fire is racing under skin and in eyes no sight and drumming fills ears and cold sweat holds me and shaking grips me all, greener than grass

The park grass looked greener, the park benches looked better and the flowers were trying harder.

I’m just confused. Everything’s confusing. Everything beautiful is far away, or maybe everything far away is beautiful. It’s like how the grass is greener on the other side. Grass just looks nicer from the other side, you know? Grass where you’re standing looks like dirt with hair.

A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten on the influx of better thoughts. We should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every accident that befell us, like the grass which confesses the influence of the slightest dew that falls on it; and did not spend our time in atoning for the neglect of past opportunities, which we call doing our duty. We loiter in winter while it is already spring.

Life is indeed colourful. We can feel in the pink one day, with our bank balances comfortably in the black, and the grass seemingly no greener on the other side of the fence. Then out of the blue, something tiresome happens that makes us see red, turn ashen white, even purple with rage. Maybe controlling our varying emotions is just 'colour management' by another name.

The more you know, the harder you will find it to make up your mind, it doesn't really matter if you find it. You can't see which grass is greener, chances are it's neither and either way it's easier to see the difference when you're sitting on the fence.

Sometimes, the grass is not greener on the other side, and we should stay in the field where we belong. And sometimes we just need to take a gamble and hope for the best.

the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. What the younger generation didn’t understand was that the grass was greenest where it’s watered

The grass may be greener on the other side but the the water bill is higher.

The grass is not 'greener' on the other side – it is just another shade of green.

Even if the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, keep to your own side; it's where you belong. There you can plant your own grass and tend to it.

You know how they say the grass is always greener on the other side? It is greener, because you're not there. And if you go you'll trample it and leave dirty footprints and probably spill something poisonous.

The grass is never greener on the other side. You can only hope that with enough hard work, time, and luck that yours will become whatever shade the spray paint bottle said it would.

if the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, that’s probably because it’s full of shit

But the grass ain't always greener on the other side, It's green where you water it

A friend of mine once told me that the grass is greener where you water it: I had forgotten to water the grass.

It is of course perfectly natural to assume that everyone else is having a far more exciting time than you. Human beings, for instance, have a phrase that describes this phenomenon, ‘The other man’s grass is always greener.’ The Shaltanac race of Broopkidren 13 had a similar phrase, but since their planet is somewhat eccentric, botanically speaking, the best they could manage was, ‘The other Shaltanac's joopleberry shrub is always a more mauvy shade of pinky-russet.’ And so the expression soon fell into disuse, and the Shaltanacs had little option but to become terribly happy and contented with their lot, much to the surprise of everyone else in the Galaxy who had not realized that the best way not to be unhappy is not to have a word for it.

life was a gift—sometimes one you wanted to return, and other times one you’d want to keep forever, but it was still a gift. The grass might look greener on the other side, but at least you still had grass. There were places in the world that didn’t have any to begin with.

so if the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, that's probably because it's full of shit.

She was thinking that the grass really could be greener on the other side of the fence. It depended on who wa standing in the grass. Maybe you had to go take a look

But here I am in July, and why am I thinking about Christmas pudding? Probably because we always pine for what we do not have. The winter seems cozy and romantic in the hell of summer, but hot beaches and sunlight are what we yearn for all winter.

When the grass is greener at other people's feet, it is not because the grass chose to take up that complexion. But it is because, they have deliberately irrigated it on regular accounts.

A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten . . .

the grass wasn’t greener on the other side of the fence; it was greener where it was watered.

her grass seemed greener until a drought came and cracked the earth beneath you.

The grass may be greener on the other side, but you still have to mow the lawn.

The man who said, "Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall not be disappointed," put the eulogy quite inadequately and even falsely. The truth "Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall be gloriously surprised." The man who expects nothing sees redder roses than common men can see, and greener grass, and a more startling sun. Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall possess the cities and the mountains; blessed is the meek, for he shall inhereit the earth. Until we realize that things might not be we cannot realize that things are.

Get busy watering your own grass so as not to notice whether it's greener elsewhere.

It's not that the grass is greener on the other side, it's that you can never be on both sides of the lawn at the same time.

Grass is greener at other people’s feet because they watered it. You need not to let your environment control you; you have what it takes to make it look beautiful!

Is the grass really greener on the other side of the fence? No. The grass is greener where you water it.

The grass is greener where you water it.

For many people, life is full of pain, suffering. It doesn't consist of clear blue skies or fresh green grass that's always greener on the other side. It's filled with hardships, grief, betrayal, and death. These things define the human condition. They define the sort of person an individual grows up to be, once those tribulations have, for the most part, ended. But what truly defines you isn't the fact that you have seen death, known the feeling of betrayal by someone you trust, or watched as something you loved was ripped out of your hands. What truly defines you is the way you reacted.

I looked through others' windows On an enchanted earth But out of my own window-- solitude and dearth. And yet there is a mystery I cannot understand-- That others through my window See an enchanted land.

Most people are sitting on their own diamond mines. The surest ways to lose your diamond mine are to get bored, become overambitious, or start thinking that the grass is greener on the other side. Find your core focus, stick to it, and devote your time and resources to excelling at it.

The grass is always greener on the other side.

The greener grass is getting more water. Water the grass on your side of the fence and stop looking over at what's on the other side

Sometimes, the grass isn’t greener on the other side and we should stay in the field where we belong.

We always have reason to rejoice and never have reason to complain.

The grass is not always greener on the other side

Except those images weren’t exact captures of reality. No, the Camera Eye was also suffused with what photographers called the Golden Hour—the gilt-tinted hour following sunrise and preceding sunset, when the world was awash with russet rays and even the meanest streets were aglow as if in an Arthurian legend. Every moment spent with John was like that, reality beyond reality. Richer, realer, rawer than reality. These were the moments she remembered most.

The grass beyond your fence is always greener, but don't jump the fence to see whether it is actually so. Enjoy it! If it is greener on the other side of the fence, enjoy it. Why destroy things by jumping the fence and finding out that it is worse than your own grass?

Some people have a warped idea of living the Christian life. Seeing talented, successful Christians, they attempt to imitate them. For them, the grass on the other side of the fence is always greener. But when they discover that their own gifts are different or their contributions are more modest (or even invisible), they collapse in discouragement and overlook genuine opportunities that are open to them. They have forgotten that they are here to serve Christ, not themselves.

It’s always been like this, he thinks. From when Moses saw the promised land that he could never enter, people have been on their deathbeds just wanting to see what happens next. He wonders if that’s what makes the promised land holy: that you can see it but you can’t quite reach it. The grass is always greener on the other side of personal extinction.

Our hearts are raging idol factories.

...the grass actually IS greener on the other side, but it's only because of the bodies buried there.

A three-legged dog successfully crosses the road to a new location where there is greener grass to piss on

The grass is always greener when it's covered in money.

We divide the world -to stop us feeling frightened- into wrong and into right, into black and into white, into real men and fairies, into status quo and scary. We divide the world into terrorists and heroes, into normal folk and weirdos, into good people and pedos, yeah we want the world binary, binary, but it's not that simple. We divide the world into liberals and gun-freaks, into atheists and fundies, into teetotallers and junkies, into chemical and natural, into fictional and factual, into science and supernatural, but it's actually, naturally, not that white and black The more you know, the harder you will find it, to make up your mind, and it doesn't really matter if you find you can't see which grass is greener -chances are it's neither- and either way it's easier to see the difference when you're sitting on the fence -cause it's not that simple- From: The Fence (An Anthem to Ambivalence)

...whenever I see a table of college “friends” sitting together they are inevitably texting with unseen others, searching, always searching, I guess, for something that might be better, a perpetual life hunt for digital greener grass, an attempt to smell roses that are elsewhere at the expense of the ones in front of you...

The grass may be greener on the other side, but will the sky be as blue?

Does God love me? Yes, absolutely. But he doesn't exist for me.

Our goal isn't contentment in and of itself. We're not after a mystical state of Zen. Our goal is to be content for the glory and honor of God.

God didn't save his son one stroke of misery. He won't withhold any good thing from you.

Do you have a personal mantra? Mine comes from a childhood song. "Wherever I go the grass grows greener.

The grass is always greener on the other side of personal extinction.

Look in the mirror rather than at your neighbor.

Pain and humiliation is always amusing when it happens to someone else.

Try and enjoy the here and now. The future will take care of itself somehow. The grass is never greener over there.

MORAL: The grass is only greener when you're not caring for your own lawn.

I am too busy working on my own grass to notice if yours is greener.

The old adage tells us that “the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence,” but the math tells us why: the unknown has a chance of being better, even if we actually expect it to be no different, or if it’s just as likely to be worse.

Although she deeply resented the gilded cage in which she resided in; she was also still, at the same time, fearful to leave it entirely all behind. For as much as she wished to live a new life, she was also equally terrified. Petrified of the unknown. What if the grass wasn’t greener on the other side? What then?

Your success lies in your own hands. You must therefore not wait for the grass to become greener by magic. You have the hands to irrigate your own territory by doing what is expected of you!

We need God to give us a holy obsession with bringing him glory and increasing his reputation. I can't manufacture love for God on my own. I love my life too much. I count my life as too precious. I need God to help me love his honor above everything else.

She could not rise. But there she lay content. The scent of the bog myrtle and the meadow-sweet was in her nostrils. The rooks' hoarse laughter was in her ears. "I have found my mate," she murmured. "It is the moor. I am nature's bride," she whispered, giving herself in rapture to the cold embraces of the grass as she lay folded in her cloak in the hollow by the pool. "Here I will lie. (A feather fell upon her brow.) I have found a greener laurel than the bay. My forehead will be cool always. These are wild birds' feathers - the owls, the nightjars. I shall dream wild dreams. My hands shall wear no wedding ring," she continued, slipping it from her finger. "The roots shall twine about them. Ah!" she sighed, pressing her head luxuriously on its spongy pillow, "I have sought happiness through many ages and not found it; fame and missed it' love and not known it; life - and behold, death is better. I have known many men and many women," she continued; "none have I understood. It is better that I should lie at peace here with only the sky above me - as the gipsy told me years ago.

A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten on the influx of better thoughts. We should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every accident that befell us, like the grass which confesses the influence of the slightest dew that falls on it; and did not spend our time in atoning for the neglect of past opportunities, which we call our duty. We loiter in winter while it is already spring. In a pleasant spring morning all men's sins are forgiven.

The truth, of course, is that if people really were as happy as they look on the Internet, they wouldn’t spend so much damn time on the Internet, because no one who’s having a really good day spends half of it taking pictures of themselves. Anyone can nurture a myth about their life if they have enough manure, so if the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, that’s probably because it’s full of shit. Not that that really makes much difference, because now we’ve learned that every day needs to be special. Every day.

The problem is that everything is relative. Happiness is based on expectations and we have the internet now. A whole world constantly asking us, "But is your life as perfect as this? Well, how about now? Is it as perfect as this? If it isn't, change it!!" The truth of course is, that if people really were as happy as they look on the internet, they wouldn't spend so much damn time on the internet. Because no one who's having a really good day spends half of it taking pictures of themselves. Anyone can nurture a myth about their life if they have enough manure. So, if the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, that's probably because it's full of shit.

So strange is the human being that in the midst of my new life and fulfilled wishes, I was sometimes aware of a slight, fleeting, subconscious desire for solitude, for even boring and empty days. It seemed to me that the time I had spent at home and the dreary uneventful life from which I was so glad to escape, was something desirable.

It all began with the word itself. "Grass. Gramina. The family Gramineae. Grasses." "Oh," I responded doubtfully. The picture in my mind was only of a vague area in parks edged with benches for the idle.

we're all doctors trading sadness for numbness grass looks much greener but it's green-painted cement the mayor's machines are there cleaning the pavement you can't make dirt clean so we'll just lemon-scent it

In order for grass to grow and be green, it has to be watered often. If the sky is al- ways sunny and bright, there is no way the grass will grow and become greener. It will become brittle, dry, and it will change colors and eventually die. Unless their grass is synthetic, most definitely you will see that people with green grass have been surprised with numerous battles. When we think about it, people who seem to have trouble-free lives are often the same ones who are still in the same place after time has passed. Their synthetic grass is still shining green, but the one catch is that it hasn’t grown because they haven’t received showers and battled the storms of life.

I am the interpretation of the prophet I am the artist in the coffin I am the brave flag stained with blood I am the wounds overcome I am the dream refusing to sleep I am the bare-breasted voice of liberty I am the comic the insult and the laugh I am the right the middle and the left I am the poached eggs in the sky I am the Parisian streets at night I am the dance that swings till dawn I am the grass on the greener lawn I am the respectful neighbour and the graceful man I am the encouraging smile and the helping hand I am the straight back and the lifted chin I am the tender heart and the will to win I am the rainbow in rain I am the human who won’t die in vain I am Athena of Greek mythology I am the religion that praises equality I am the woman of stealth and affection I am the man of value and compassion I am the wild horse ploughing through I am the shoulder to lean onto I am the Muslim the Jew and the Christian I am the Dane the French and the Palestinian I am the straight the square and the round I am the white the black and the brown I am the free speech and the free press I am the freedom to express I will die for my right to be all the above here mentioned And should threat encounter I’ll pull my pencil

Spring comes to the Australian Alps like an invisible spirit. There is not the tremendous surge of upthrust life that there is in the lowland valleys, and no wild flowers bloom in the snow mountains till the early summer, but there is an immense stirring of excitement. A bright red and blue lowrie flits through the trees; snow thaws, and the streams become full of foaming water; the grey, flattened grass grows upwards again and becomes greener; wild horses start to lose their winter coats and find new energy; wombats sit, round and fat, blinking in the evening sunshine; at night there is the cry of a dingo to its mate.

And it certainly did seem a little provoking ('almost as if it happened on purpose,' she thought) that, though she managed to pick plenty of beautiful rushes as the boat glided by, there was always a more lovely one that she couldn't reach. "The prettiest are always further!" she said at last, with a sigh at the obstinacy of the rushes in growing so far off.

My heart flutters in my breast whenever I quickly glance at you- I can say nothing, my tongue is broken. A delicate fire runs under my skin, my eyes see nothing, my ears roar, cold sweat rushes down me, trembling seizes me, I am greener than grass. To myself I seem needing but little to die

We'd never seen anything as green as these rice paddies. It was not just the paddies themselves: the surrounding vegetation - foliage so dense the trees lost track of whose leaves were whose - was a rainbow coalition of one colour: green. There was an infinity of greens, rendered all the greener by splashes of red hibiscus and the herons floating past, so white and big it seemed as if sheets hung out to dry had suddenly taken wing. All other colours - even purple and black - were shades of green. Light and shade were degrees of green. Greenness, here, was less a colour than a colonising impulse. Everything was either already green - like a snake, bright as a blade of grass, sidling across the footpath - or in the process of becoming so. Statues of the Buddha were mossy, furred with green.

To me he seems equal to gods, the man who sits facing you and hears you near as you speak softly and laugh in a sweet echo that jolts the heart in my ribs. Now when I look at you a moment my voice is empty and can say nothing as my tongue cracks and slender fire races under my skin. My eyes are dead to light, my ears pound, and sweat pours over me. I convulse, greener than grass and feel my mind slip as I go close to death Yet I must suffer, even poor

And the whole constant mantra about how 'long-term relationships are hard work' and 'everything has its ups and downs' and 'you're going to be annoyed by their toenails' and 'stick with it' and 'the grass only looks greener' and so on. It's actually very hard to tell when you should split up with someone. All I knew was I was waking up every morning thinking this can't be it, until death. When your relationship is making you feel life's too long, something's gone awry.

Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young In a world of magnets and miracles Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary The ringing of the division bell had begun Along the Long Road and on down the Causeway Do they still meet there by the Cut There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps Running before times took our dreams away Leaving the myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground To a life consumed by slow decay The grass was greener The light was brighter When friends surrounded The nights of wonder Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again Dragged by the force of some sleeping tide At a higher altitude with flag unfurled We reached the dizzy heights of that dreamed of world Encumbered forever by desire and ambition There's a hunger still unsatisfied Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon Though down this road we've been so many times The grass was greener The light was brighter The taste was sweeter The nights of wonder With friends surrounded The dawn mist glowing The water flowing The endless river Forever and ever

This book is not the memoir of a contented man. It's not the poignant reflections of a white-haired guru who has finally figured out the secret to contentment. It's more like sweaty, bloody, hastily scribbled notes from a battlefield. I'm still struggling to escape the sinister fingers on this conspiracy. I'm still waging war against the discontentment that rages in my life. I can see contentment in the distance, like a hazy oasis, but I have to pick my way through a minefield to get there. I'm not the contented man God wants me to be, but I'm fighting to get there. I'm writing this book the hope that you'll join me in the fight.

I walk outside and the green on the trees seems greener, so potent I can almost taste it. Maybe I can taste it, and it is like the grass I decided to chew when I was a child just to see what it was like. I almost fall down the stairs because of the swaying and burst into laughter when the grass tickles my bare feet. I wander toward the orchard. “Four!” I call out. Why am I calling out a number? Oh yes. Because that’s his name. I call out again. “Four! Where are you?” “Tris?” says a voice from the trees on my right. It almost sounds like the tree is talking to me. I giggle, but of course it’s just Tobias, ducking under a branch. I run toward him, and the ground lurches to the side, so I almost fall. His hand touches my waist, steadies me. The touch sends a shock through my body, and all my insides burn like his fingers ignited them. I pull closer to him, pressing my body against his, and lift my head to kiss him. “What did they--” he starts, but I stop him with my lips. He kisses me back, but too quickly, so I sigh heavily. “That was lame,” I say. “Okay, no it wasn’t, but…” I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him again, and he presses his finger to my lips to stop me. “Tris,” he says. “What did they do to you? You’re acting like a lunatic.” “That’s not very nice of you to say,” I say. “They put me in a good mood, that’s all. And now I really want to kiss you, so if you could just relax--” “I’m not going to kiss you. I’m going to figure out what’s going on,” he says. I pout my lower lip for a second, but then I grin as the pieces come together in my mind. “That’s why you like me!” I exclaim. “Because you’re not very nice either! It makes so much more sense now.” “Come on,” he says. “We’re going to see Johanna.” “I like you, too.” “That’s encouraging,” he replies flatly. “Come on. Oh, for God’s sake. I’ll just carry you.” He swings me into his arms, one arm under my knees and the other around my back. I wrap my arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his cheek. Then I discover that the air feels nice on my feet when I kick them, so I move my feet up and down as he walks us toward the building where Johanna works.