Quotes About Spring

Alex hopped onto the four-poster bed. He bounced up and down, grinning as the springs squeaked. What are you doing? I asked. Making noise. He leaned over and rifled through Randolph's nightstand drawer. Let's see. Cough drops. Paper clips. Some wadded-up Kleenex that I am not going to touch. And ... He whistled. Medication for bowel discomfort! Magnus, all this bounty belongs to you! You're a strange person. I prefer the term fabulously weird .

Spring forward, fall back, Eunice chants. Daylight saving -- what an amazing idea. (If only you could, but where would you keep it? With the time that's found? Or the time that's kept? A treasure chest, or a hole in the ground?) You're late, Eunice says. Better than never, I reply irritably.

She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wears. The notes of a distant song which someone was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. There were patches of blue sky showing here and there though the clouds that had met and pilled one above the other in the west facing her window.

Like colors or a spring tree against that kind ofblue sky that pulls your heart out through your eyes. Pretty things will swarm you like that, like your heart was a hive of electric bees.

It's all so beautiful . . . the spring . . . and books and music and fires. . . . Why aren't they enough?

I have plotted Lombroso's findings in figure 4-3, and it can be seen that he found peaks of productivity in the late spring and early fall.

WINTER FEAR Is it just winter or is this worse. Is this the year when outer damp obscures a deeper curse that spring can't fix, when gears that turn the earth won't shift the view, when clouds won't lift though all the skies go blue.

How come you know when Easter is?" and he had replied: "Because it's the first Sunday after the first full moon after the twenty-first day of March, obviously." It had been a mistake to add "obviously," because Erman had punched him in the stomach for being sarcastic.

an old gray aunt who came to visit every winter and stayed till spring. You learn to live with her.

And the redwinged blackbirds sing in the budding greengage plumtree.

On a day like this, I can't imagine anything better that might happen in a person's life than for them to start paying attention to birds—to become aware of this magical world that exists all around us, unnoticed by many but totally captivating for those who know its secrets. This kind of spring day, with its bountiful myriads of colorful sprites just arrived from tropical shores, has to be one of the greatest gifts of life on Earth.

A Winterian wielding an Autumnian weapon, using Cordellan allegiance to bring Spring crumbling down.

"What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?

And who'd date tell the lambs in spring, what fate the later seasons bring. Who'd tell the girl in the middle the pair the price she'll be just pay for just being there.

Daffodils,That come before the swallow dares, and takeThe winds of March with beauty.

Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.

April hath put a spirit of youth in everything.

The chariest maid is prodigal enoughIf she unmask her beauty to the moon;Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes;The canker galls the infants of the springToo oft before their buttons be disclos'd,And in the morn and liquid dew of youthContagious blastments are most imminent.

When daisies pied and violets blue,And lady-smocks all silver-white,And cuckoo-buds of yellow hueDo paint the meadows with delight,The cuckoo then, on every tree,Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo;Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,Unpleasing to a married ear!

From you have I been absent in the spring,When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,Hath put a spirit of youth in everything.

It was a lover and his lass,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,That o'er the green corn-field did pass,In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;Sweet lovers love the spring.

He wears the roseOf youth upon him.

More matter for a May morning.

Then comes in the sweet o' the year.