Quotes About Spring

And so they lived for many a long year, as happy and lighthearted as the birds in the trees and the flowers on the hill in spring.

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.

Für die Bäume ist es Frühjahr, sonst nichts. Alles andere geht sie nichts an.

Tinere?ea trebuie s?-?i tr?iasc? prim?vara vie?ii.

Straw Hat Day," Saturday, May 1, when a man could at last break out his summer hats. Men followed this rule.

When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.

People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.

I loved her and I loved no one else and we had a lovely magic time while we were alone. I worked well and we made great trips, and I thought we were invulnerable again, and it wasn't until we were out of the mountains in late spring, and back in Paris, that the other thing started again.

When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest.

The only thing that could spoil a day was people. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.

The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.

When spring came, even false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits

It was warm and like the spring and I walked down the alleyway of trees, warmed from the sun on the wall, and found we still lived in the same house and that it all looked the same as when I had left it.

When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness

Wenn der Frühling kam, selbst der trügerische Frühling, gab es keine Probleme außer dem, wo man am glücklichsten sein würde. Das einzige, was einen Tag verderben konnte, waren Menschen, und wenn man vermeiden konnte, Verabredungen zu treffen, so war jeder Tag ohne Grenzen. Menschen waren immer die Begrenzer des Glücks, bis auf die sehr wenigen, die so gut waren wie der Frühling selbst.

Bet, kad aukstie lieti l?st bez mitas un nogalina pavasari, š?iet, ka velt?gi aizg?jusi boj? jaun? dz?v?ba.

Memory returned like spring, Laurel thought. Memory had the character of spring. In some cases, it was the old wood that did the blooming

On a cold bubbling spring, covered dishes and crocks and pitchers of milk and butter and so on flouated in a circle in the mild whirlpool, like horse on a merry-go-round, in the water that smelled of the mint that grew close by.

Then in the spring something happened to me. Yes, I remember. I fell in love with James Tyrone and was so happy for time.

And the air--I don't know how to describe it exactly--it had that strange cool spring feeling in it, that feeling as if you remember something wonderful but you're not quite sure what it is.

Greetings on this most exceedingly beautiful spring morning. A morning swollen with new life, a morning on which, if I had the voice, I would let loose with song. It's hard to believe just a few short weeks ago we were eating our cornflakes in the wintery dark. Now, well it's still kind of dim out there, but I can see the golden glow of Apollo's chariot waiting in the wings, about to make its entrance. Winter's on the lam, no doubt.

Listen, can you hear it Spring's sweet cantata. The strains of grass pushing through the snow. The song of buds swelling on the vine. The tender timpani of a baby robin's heart. Spring.

These new songs that I sing Were islands in the sea That never missed a spring, No, nor a century. A starry voyager, I to these islands come Knowing not by what star I am at last come home.

At the best of times, spring hurts depressives.