Quotes About Seasons

Wind warns November's done with. The blown leaves make bat-shapes, Web-winged and furious.

In the month of red leaves I climb to a bed of fire.

It didn't seem to be summer any more. I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together, and the big white hotel towel I had dragged down with me lay under my head, numb as a snowdrift.

I should have loved a thunder bird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again

It didn't seem to be summer any more. I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together, and the big white hotel towel I had dragged down with me lay under my head numb as a snowdrift.

Then next week. Next week it all slows, rides easy under apple boughs.

April is the cruelest month.

Will the veiled sister pray for Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee, Those who are torn on the horn between season and season, time and time, between Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray For children at the gate Who will not go away and cannot pray: Pray for those who chose and oppose

April is the cruelest month - - - - mixing memory and desire - - -

He hated this time of year. Every day was shorter than the last. Night began to fall in late afternoon. Winter could arrive on any given day and stay until April. They had had an ice storm on Halloween and a blizzard on Veterans Day, followed by three days of rain that had caused flash flooding in low-lying areas. The odd day of stunning, electric blue skies and a paltry few lingering fall colors couldn't make up for the stretches of bleak gray or the damp cold that knifed to the bone.

And he wants you to keep that at the front of your mind? He wants you to stay focused on the darkest seasons of your life? How could that possibly do any good?' . . . He wants you to remember who delivered you from that time. That's the point of holding on to memory: delivery, not darkness.

There wasn't any other option. The summer was over, and autumn had begun.

El tiempo vuela, como dice Gustave. Uno cree que es lunes y ya estamos a jueves. El otoño se termina, y de golpe es pleno verano.

There is a time for deeper things to open your mind and inspire, with the promise of new life. A bricolage of of seasons and reasons when the sun is warm and the wind is chill. Before the reckless bloom of pure spring,

Eustace remembered a day like this one: spring on the cusp of summer, the earth unclenching its fist, thick green leaves, rich with fragrance, fattening the trees. A

Oh, razum, vse se zgodi, ko nastopi ?as za to. Vrtnar lahko drevo zalije stokrat, toda sadje bo zraslo, ko bo prišel pravi letni ?as.

You've always been my summer.", Loving Summer by Kailin Gow

I pretty much live in my denim jacket. The best thing about this piece is that I can wear it for every season.

I would definitely say the last episode is as epic as probably any episode that 'Once Upon a Time' has ever done. I mean, it's massive; it's huge. It's like taking the best of all seasons and jamming it into one - literally.

Deep in my cortex, the year is divided into reading seasons. The period from mid-October to Christmas, for instance, is 'ghost story' time, while Jane Austen and P. G. Wodehouse pretty much own April and May.

A classic fishtail parka, anorak, mackintosh, windbreaker, pea coat, or jean jacket will get you through every season.

It was no accident, no coincidence, that the seasons came round and round year after year. It was the Lord speaking to us all and showing us over and over again the birth, life, death, and resurrection of his only begotten Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ, our Lord. It was like a best-loved story being told day after day with each sunrise and sunset, year after year with the seasons, down through the ages since time began.

I doe hold it, in the Royall ordering of Gardens, there ought to be Gardens, for all the Moneths in the Yeare: In which, severally Things of Beautie, may in then in Season.

Fortunately, also, that very night the wolfish English summer discarded its lamb-skins.