Quotes About Spring

I do hope that our spring will be starting shortly and we will all be able to enjoy some sunshine again.

Spring drew on... and a greenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested the thought that hope traversed them at night and left each morning brighter traces of her steps.

I hope my allergies don't act up

I can still bring into my body the joy I felt at seeing the first trillium of spring, which seemed to be telling me, "Never give up hope, spring will come."

But only a person in the depths of despair neglected to look beyond winter to the spring that inevitably followed, bringing back color and life and hope.

A comforting acquaintance, hope, a contagious thing like spring, inebriating like lager.

Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing.

My ideas are a curse. They spring from a radical discontent with the awful order of things. I play clown. I play carpenter. I play nurse. I play witch.

The spring of the New Age is here, bursting forth in perfect harmony, beauty and abundance; and nothing can stop it from coming about.

Kenneth Hagin, the late father of the modern faith movement, stated: Prophecy is supernatural utterance in a known tongue. The Hebrew word "to prophesy" means "to flow forth." It also carries with it the thought "to bubble forth like a fountain, to let drop, to lift up, to tumble forth, and to spring forth.

The ravens of the night were hush'd, The bird of dawn began his lay, The rose-bud, newly wakened, blush'd To feel the touch of springing day; And bade the roses round unveil, Roused by the warbling nightingale. The jasmine stood all bathed in dew; Wet were the violet's lids of blue. - Zuleika's Dream

Like butterflies in Spring Poetry awakens the Spirit, stirs the imagination and explores the possibilities with each stroke of its rhythmic wings.

ANOTHER PRODUCT OF THE SPRING WAS THE QUINTET IN E-FLAT FOR Piano and Winds, K. 452.

The upper classes worshipped then, as now, not the Spirit of Spring but their own ancestors.

All day the blanket snapped and swelled on the line, roused by a hot spring wind.... From there it witnessed the first sparrow, early flies lifting their sticky feet, and a green haze on the south-sloping hills. Clouds rose over the mountain....At dusk I took the blanket in, and we slept, restless, under its fragrant weight.

The spring came suddenly; the rains stopped, the days grew noticeably longer, and the afternoon light felt powdery, as if it might blow away.

Unknown to them, spring fever was in fact a vitamin deficiency, mostly likely scurvy, brought on by the winter diet. IN

The Santa Anas blew in hot from the desert, shriveling the last of the spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. Only the oleanders thrived, their delicate poisonous blooms, their dagger green leaves.

A lad changed to a shrub in spring, the shrub into a shepherd boy, A fine hair to a lyre string, snow into snow on hair piled high.

You stand now between anarchy and law. The Police have done their duty. Let the jury have the same courage so that the police can indeed rest in peace. The flowers of spring shall bloom upon their graves moistened by the tears of a great city. Outraged and violated law shall be redeemed and in their martyrdom anarchy shall be buried forever.

For a while he sat idly outside his door brooding in the spring sun. In The Lost Phoebe.

wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world my blood approves, and kisses are a far better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers.

Spring is like a perhaps hand Spring is like a perhaps hand (which comes carefully out of Nowhere)arranging a window,into which people look(while people stare arranging and changing placing carefully there a strange thing and a known thing here)and changing everything carefully spring is like a perhaps Hand in a window (carefully to and fro moving New and Old things,while people stare carefully moving a perhaps fraction of flower here placing an inch of air there)and without breaking anything.

your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose ... (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands