Quotes About Seasons

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

Im summer - in spring, even - it is impossible to believe in November. Snow you can picture, picture-postcard style, but the sodden, rotting tangle where the brazen nettles were, the once-secret nest now stark in the bare branches and above all the sheer dead silence of the sky - these things are unimaginable for the rest of the year.

May the rains sweep gently across your fields, may the sun warm the land, may every good seed you have planted bear fruit and may late summer find you standing in fields of plenty.

It's not that the Midwest lacks bustle; it's just that away from the cities, the deadlines are imposed by the earth and its seasons.

Winter here arrives, stays, persists, goes away a little, then comes back and people start leaping off the bridges. That's approximately March, when jumping is at its apogee, but even then, winter isn't over. What it likes to do is go away for a week in April and then return for three days and finish grandpa off.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, / And summer's lease hath all too short a date.

Life moves in cycles. Sun takes hours twenty-four, rain clouds periodically open their doors, the moon, goes through phases never fills up soon and tides time to time touch the shores. Cycles and seasons #heal you with reasons, embrace them, be aware know mother nature will always care. Let summer, autumn, winter and spring be optimized, heal with every season to get MickeyMized.

Spring, summer, and fall fill us with hope; winter alone reminds us of the human condition.

There is a time for some things, and a time for all things a time for great things, and a time for small things.

Words never mattered' he said, 'seasons mattered. Notice how people behave when they're desperate - that's who they are,' he warned.

BucureÅŸtiul, îndeosebi, are cele mai toxice amurguri, în toate anotimpurile. E greu s? r?mâi singur, s? nu te îndr?gosteÅŸti, s? nu-Å£i cauÅ£i pereche într-un astfel de oraÅŸ, în care soarele se stinge cu atâta melancolie...

Nell'ottavo mese lunare, in autunno avanzato, distese sconfinate di sorgo scintillavano come un mare di sangue.

hard to get used to winter. The truth was, she knew she never would. For her, cold and happiness were incompatible.

calendar.We insert the mysteries of Christ's life into the seasons and the times of the year, beginning with Advent and carry on to Pentecost, from November to June approximately. This allows us to live these mysteries in ways which give access to the full reality of resurrection. Christianity is not a new religion, it is a new form of existence. It is the introduction of the dimension of resurrection into the spatio-temporal continuum of ordinary daily life.

There is much to be said for cherry blossoms, but they seem so flighty. They are so quick to run off and leave you. And then just when your regrets are the strongest the wisteria comes into bloom, and it blooms on into the summer. There is nothing quite like it. Even the color is somehow companionable and inviting.

Even nature teaches us to adapt to different seasons. Adaptation is the key to a better life.

The heart's seasons seldom coincide with the calendar. Who among us has not been made desolate beyond all words upon some golden day when the little creatures of the air and meadow were life incarnate, from sheer joy of living? Who among us has not come home, singing, when the streets were almost impassable with snow, or met a friend with a happy, smiling face, in the midst of a pouring rain?

Seize the day. Because we're only going to experience a limited number of springs, summers, and falls.

He had never loved before her and he would never love after her—there was no after Elena for him. My love for you is the deepest truth of my existence. Spring and summer, fall and winter, I would spend all the seasons of my life with you.

Every season has its beauty.

The land doesn't know who owns it. It was here before owners, and will be here after, content with itself in all seasons.

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.

Real, solid growth and education are slow. Look at a tree. We don't put a seed in the ground and then stick our fingers in the earth and yank up an oak. Everything has its time and is nourished and fed with the rhythms of the sun and moon, the seasons. We are no different, no more special, no less important. We belong on the earth. We grow in the same way as a rock, a snail, a porpoise, or a blade of grass. America has forgotten this.

I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house." [ Notebook , Oct. 10, 1842]