Quotes About Seasons

Planting and harvest don't happen in the same season

While they proceedTo and fro, andCome and go Like Spring, SummerAutumn and WinterChastise, Criticize And SlanderJesus still remainsA Wonder

Strong jealousy in a beautiful love is the autumn in the middle of a hot summer!

Then that night there was an early frost, and by Sunday morning, autumn had truly arrived. The sky was a rich cloudless blue, the air still and dry, the maple trees glowing with glorious reds and oranges and yellows, and everywhere on Gardam Street squirrels bustled about with self-importance, burying their nuts in the most unlikely places.

I tried to put on a smile but, being too cold, I could only manage a grin. That's one reason why I don't like winter: smiles become abstract.

Never think winter will last when spring is equally inevitable.

For everything there truly is a season; if his life's work has not taught him that, it has taught him nothing. The birth of spring, the fullness of summer, the push of glory in the fall, the quiet of winter.

Abby was saying that all her illness had done was to make her love Link and Daddy more . And appreciate everything more. And to understand , in a way she never had before, that death was a natural part of life, just like the seasons in nature. And everybody's job was to love life while you had it and never to take anything for granted. It was hard to remember to do that, but it was worth it to try.

she had long accepted the fact that happiness is like swallows in Spring. It may come and nest under your eaves or it may not. You cannot command it. When you expect to be happy you are not, when you don't expect to be happy there's suddenly Easter in your soul, though it be midwinter.

September 15th. After that I opened my heart to him, and listened reverently to all he had to say, and treasured up his kind and encouraging advice, and wished he could stay here a whole year and help me through the seasons. But he went, as people one likes always do go, and he was the only guest I have had whose departure made me sorry.

If you were April's lady,And I were lord in May.

I don't know that I believe in gods enough to ask of them. But if they exist and I might be so bold as to say, excuse me, if you're there can you please make that sunlit summer day longer and these dark days shorter

The nights are sooner, chillier, the light a little less each time.

Funny, she says leaning against an unexpected warm place in the stone on the threshold of the church and liking the feel of it on her arm. Like, how we overload summer most out of all the seasons, I mean with our expectations of it. Nah, he says and nips the end of his rollie with a finger and thumb till it's out. Summers can take it. That's why they're called summers.

How adaptable human beings were without even realizing it, slipping blindly from state to state. One morning it was summer, the next you woke up and the whole year was over; one minute you were thirty, the next sixty, sixty next year quick as a wink, how fast it all was. How quickly and smoothly, yet how shockingly, when you thought about it, the seasons and the years gave way to each other

The seasons are meaningless. No - worse than meaningless. Paddy is rubble, and time just keeps on going. Autumn, then there'l| be winter. Then there'll be spring, and so on.

Funny, she says leaning against an unexpected warm place in the stone on the threshold of the church and liking the feel of it on her arm. Like, how we overload summer most out of all the seasons, I mean with our expectations of it.

The leaves have mostly fallen, so the pines are having their glorious reign.

Autumn is the season when you know what's coming next is harder than what is now. In pale spring you look forward to bright summer; in hot summer to the cool of fall; in winter to the hope of spring. In fall, you watch what you have blow away.

In seasons of hiddenness our sense of value is disrupted, stripped of what "others" affirmed us to be. In this season God intends to give us an unshakable identity in Him, that no amount of adoration nor rejection can alter.

The Father's work in us does not sleep—though in spiritual winters he retracts all advertisement. And when he does so, he is purifying our faith, strengthening our character, conserving our energy, and preparing us for the future. The sleepy days of winter hide us so that seductive days of summer will not ruin us.

That the winter snow is less deep than it was when we were children, the crabs fewer under the rocks by the shore, the birds at dawn too quiet, the forest oddly lonesome. That the weather and seasons have become strangers to us. And that we, the human species, are in one way or another responsible.

Outside, with Labor Day having come and gone, summer is fighting a dying battle against the fall air. The leaves are hanging perilously on the trees, knowing full well they're going to make the plunge, clinging on as if they stand a chance not to. The garbage smell that has wafted around us for the better part of August is dissipating, ushered out with the humidity, and in its place a briskness is filtering in, like something you'd smell from a bottle of Tide.

Tomber amoureux l'hiver n'est pas une bonne idée. Les symptômes sont plus sublimes et plus douloureux.