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“A person does not grow from the ground like a vine or a tree, one is not part of a plot of land. Mankind has legs so it can wander.”
― Roman Payne, The Wanderess

“People pretend not to like grapes when the vines are too high for them to reach.”
― Marguerite de Navarre

“Naked you are blue like the night in Cuba,
you have vines and stars in your hair,”
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

“... the vintage of history is forever repeating ~ same old vines, same old wines!”
― E.A. Bucchianeri, Faust: My Soul be Damned for the World, Vol. 2

“Seek more strength for weaker spine
No grape grows on sinner’s vine”
― Munia Khan

“You are but a tiny cluster upon the vines of heaven, where the grapes are worlds; yet you hold the power to ripen your bitter berries and add to the eternal vintage of cosmic sweetness if so you will.”
― Eden Phillpotts, Saurus

“I guess it's the same way trees grow around the very vines that are killing them, so they're strangled and sustained all at once. After a long time, even pain can be a comfort.”
― Lauren Oliver, Rooms

“As he lifted the leather-bound cover, the musty smell of paper rose up. He turned the first mottled leaf and looked down at an elaborately drawn image. A brimming goblet was decorated with curling vines and bunches of grapes. But instead of wine or water, the cup was filled with words.
John stared at the alien symbols. He could not read. Around the goblet a strange garden grew. Honeycombs dripped and flowers like crocuses sprouted among thick-trunked trees. Vines draped themselves about their branches which bristled with leaves and bent under heavy bunches of fruit. In the far background John spied a roof with a tall chimney. His mother settled beside him.
'Palm trees...' she said. 'These are dates. Honey came from the hives and saffron came from these flowers. Grapes swelled on the vine...”
― Lawrence Norfolk, John Saturnall's Feast

“music puts me in touch
with life's energy
and death still hanging
like an old crow
on the vines of my mind”
― Hanna Abi Akl, Titans

“These vines will be blooming by summer don't you remember? It's just the bones of the garden you're looking at right now." I thought of the trumpet vine and honeysuckle that would green and flower; the jasmine that would sweeten the air, its perfume drifting in the windows of our home.”
― Mindy Friddle, The Garden Angel

“....a baby forest smothered in its bed.....”
― Sara Bonnett Stein, Noah's Garden: Restoring the Ecology of Our Own Back Yards

“The autumn had been unseasonably dry, and the vines that had taken up residence on the canal side of the brick wall surrounding the property extended themselves in parched desperation towards the water. Brunetti was struck by the resemblance between the vines, exposed to the sun almost all day, every day, and The Raft of the Medusa. The human limbs in the foreground of the painting, like the vines on the wall, fell weakly towards the water, while the figures behind stretched towards a glimpse of what might be a boat, a speck of land, or yet another swiftly arriving wave, bent on their destruction.
How much worse the vines looked than the men on the raft, even though the accounts of the incident that had inspired the painting spoke of dehydration and starvation.”
― Donna Leon, Give Unto Others

“The walls shimmer with mica, and the ceiling is all branches and green vines. In the antechamber, the shell of an enormous snail glows, a lamp the size of a small table.”
― Holly Black, The Wicked King

“Shattered furniture; shredded bedding; clothes strewn about as if he'd gone looking for me inside the armoire. No one, it seemed, had been allowed in to clean.

But it was the vines- the thorns- that had made it unliveable. My old bedroom had been overrun with them. They'd curved and slithered over the walls, entwined themselves amongst the debris. As if they'd crawled off the trellises beneath my windows, as if a hundred years had passed and not months.

The bedroom was now a tomb.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“She had no mental shields, no barriers. The gates to her mind... Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers- or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin