Quotes About Seasons

Winter-born children may end up being bigger and more academically inclined than those born in summer.

The summer hath his joys,And winter his delights;Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,They shorten tedious nights.

Needless to say, perfumes are a must for every season.

I grew up in Belle Harbor, which is in New York City, but it has the most powerful sense of nature and seasons. It wasn't even the beach and the water. I just dreamt about everything that had to do with nature. I read about Thoreau.

On the trees surrounding me, the leaves are just beginning their slow turn toward the colour of fire..

When an almond tree became covered with blossoms in the heart of winter, all the trees around it began to jeer. 'What vanity,' they screamed, 'what insolence! Just think, it believes it can bring spring in this way!' The flowers of the almond tree blushed for shame. 'Forgive me, my sisters,' said the tree. 'I swear I did not want to blossom, but suddenly I felt a warm springtime breeze in my heart.

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers; Of April, May, of June, and July flowers. I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes. —ROBERT HERRICK

Flowers that had bloomed brilliant from spring through autumn blackened under the killing frost.

it was a concept album from 1989 based off The Gunslinger by Stephen King—featuring songs like 'Different Seasons' and 'Mohaine Desert.

He'd fill every moment with the seasons he'd found in his heart: hopes like birds on a spring branch; happiness like a warm summer sun; magic like the rising mists of autumn. And best of all, love; love enough for a thousand Christmases.

Her skin was flawless and always cool, always pale; her body was long, like her hair, like her fingers, like her laughter; and her eyes, oh, her eyes, had every season of leaf in them: the twin greens of spring and high summer, the golds of autumn, and, in her rages, black midwinter rot.

Spring, if it lingers more than a week beyond its span, starts to hunger for summer to end the days of perpetual promise

Time would be precious from now on. It would tick by, of course, as it always had, but Harvey was determined he wouldn't waste it with sighs and complaints. He'd fill every moment with the seasons he'd found in his heart: hopes like birds on a spring branch; happiness like a warm summer sun; magic like the rising mists of autumn. And best of all, love; love enough for a thousand Christmases.

The seasons long for each other, like men and women, in order that they may be cured of their excesses.

The days passed on, the weeks passed on, and the track of the golden autumn wound its bright way visibly through the green summer of the trees.

I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.

She seemed a compound of the autumn leaves and the winter sunshine ...

How fast the stream flows from January to December!

Every season is likeable, and wet days and fine, red wine and white, company and solitude. Even sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life, can be full of dreams; and the most common actions ? a walk, a talk, solitude in one's own orchard ? can be enhanced and lit up by the association of the mind. Beauty is everywhere, and beauty is only two finger's-breadth from goodness.

I feel my brains, like a pear, to see if it's ripe; it will be exquisite by September.

I am the seasons, I think sometimes, January, May, November; the mud, the mist, the dawn. I cannot be tossed about, or float gently, or mix with other people.

The summer is put away folded up in the drawer with other summers.

I am not a woman, but the light that falls on this gate, on this ground. I am the seasons, I think sometimes, January, May, November; the mud, the mist, the dawn. I cannot be tossed about, or float gently, or mix with other people.

I think sometimes [...] I am not a woman, but the light that falls on this gate, on this ground. I am the seasons, I think sometimes, January, May, November; the mud, the mist, the dawn