Quotes About Spring

For you, a thousand times over. Then I turned and ran. It was only a smile, nothing more. It didn't make everything alright. It didn't make anything all right. Only a smile. A tiny thing. But I'll take it. With open arms. Because when spring comes, it melts the snow one flake at a time, and maybe I just witnessed the first flake melting.

When spring comes, it melts the snow one flake at a time.

I know what I said earlier, but Kabul isn't that bad." Mrs. Wahdati toyed with her necklace absently. She was looking out the window, a heaviness set on her features. "I like it best here at the end of spring, after the rains. The air so clean. That first burst of summer. The way the sun hits the mountains.

Buruienile desertului isi duc mai departe traiul, dar florile de primavara infloresc si se ofilesc. Atata gratie, atata demnitate, ce tragedie!

Because when the spring comes it melts the snow one flake at a time...

His mind was like the delicate spring of a watch, which quivers for several hours after it has been touched.

Crocuses shouted purple and white against the bright grass;

gourmet honey made from Japanese cherry blossoms.

There are no secrets, there is no mystery. We make that all up. In fact, it's all right there in front of us. You have to have enough food to get through winter and spring. That's what it all comes down to. You have to live in a way that will gather enough food each fall to get through winter.

Southern California spring-time, when things bloomed, occurred from November through February, corresponding to the rainy season. Summer's equivalent would be March through May; and the dry brown autumn was June through October. Leaving no good equivalent for winter proper.

Ho jeg har visst alt faat Vaaren i mig, jeg bruker min Qvind som en gale, Fan steike mig, og æter langt bedre end på længe!(1912, brev til J.M. Køhler Olsen i Bergen)

For the record, she continued, it's not my fault I came in here looking like Chesty LaRue. You caught me on laundry day, so I have no undergarments on. Though I will cop to a little extra spring in my step for your benefit.

Girls, sometimes I feel as if those exams mean everything, but when I look at the big buds swelling on those chestnut trees and the misty blue air at the end of the streets they don't seem half so important.

Your slightest look easily will unclose me, though I have closed myself as fingers, you open petal by petal myself a Spring opens her first rose.

Argi neskauda, kai sprogsta pumpuras?

Hardships in lives, Moran was raised to believe, are like unpleasant weather, which one endures because bad weather will break as inevitably as bad luck will run its course. Hope is the sunshine after the storm, the spring thawing after the bitter winter; the goddess of fate, capricious as she is, has nevertheless an impressionable mind, as any young female does, who would smile at those who have perseverance.

The bitter winds in February were sometimes called the First East Winds, but the longing for spring somehow made them seem more piercing.

On a warm spring day, a galloping horse was only too clearly a sweating animal of flesh and blood. But a horse racing through a snowstorm became one with the very elements; wrapped in the whirling blast of the north wind, the beast embodied the icy breath of winter.

Venne un giorno, agli sgoccioli della primavera, che sembrava lo scampolo che un sarto avesse staccato da una pezza d'estate, oppure una prova in costume della stagione ventura.

I like spring, but it is too young. I like summer, but it is too proud. So I like best of all autumn, because its leaves are a little yellow, its tone mellower, its colours richer, and it is tinged a little with sorrow and a premonition of death. Its golden richness speaks not of the innocence of spring, nor of the power of summer, but of the mellowness and kindly wisdom of approaching age. It knows the limitations of life and is content.

At the end of the season of sorrows comes the time of rejoicing. Spring, like a well-oiled clock, noiselessly indicates this time.

Life has puffed and blown itself into a summer day, and clouds and spring billow over the heavens as if calendars were a listing of mathematical errors.

Every little or big problem has a reason. Every year there is a winter season. Every trouble goes away with time, after winter spring comes with rhyme.

Always becoming, never arriving. Life is at a standstill - only ideas flash past. In such confusion I find myself running after them: Hey! Stop! Stop! But they escape, leaving me staring at a grey English spring.