Quotes About Spring

He thought about her deliberately. Hard. Nothing happened. He thought of her fair, undistinguished, fresh face that made your heart miss a beat when you thought about it. His heart missed a beat. Obedient heart! Like the first primrose. Not any primrose. The first primrose.

And over walls and earth and trees and swinging sprays and tendrils the fair green veil of tender little leaves had crept, and in the grass under the trees and the gray urns in the alcoves and here and there everywhere were touches or splashes of gold and purple and white and the trees were showing pink and snow above his head and there were fluttering of wings and faint sweet pipes and humming and scents and scents.

Frances Hodgson Burnett

Is the spring coming? he said. What is it like? You don't see it in rooms if you are ill. It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine, and things pushing up and working under the earth, said Mary.

Frances Hodgson Burnett

You still cry too easily, but without your tears, at least, everything would burn. You are Spring in your jeans, in the laughing leaves. I think pearls melted over your bones.

And then--with the curse, or, in this case, blessing, of the unpopular, the unathletic, the overweight, the strange--they vanished like shadows into the spring night.

In spring, Granny would send me off to pick bluets, violets, and windflowers. As the weeks passed, she'd ask for yellow lady's slippers and bleeding hearts, then roses and white rhododendron clusters that grew along the stream. She'd always seem to know the day when the mayflies danced and died. When I'd come back from whatever venture she'd sent me on, she'd talk about how life was precious.

I can't feel a thing; All mournful petal storms are dancing inside the very private spring of my head.

Our winters are very long here, very long and very monotonous. But we don't complain about it downstairs, we're shielded against the winter. Oh, spring does come eventually, and summer, and they last for a while, but now, looking back, spring and summer seem too short, as if they were not much more than a couple of days, and even on those days, no matter how lovely the day, it still snows occasionally.

You don't have to know anything about the Shakers to appreciate Mr. Copland's score for 'Appalachian Spring' any more than you have to know who William Randolph Hearst was to understand 'Citizen Kane.'

Spring has many American faces. There are cities where it will come and go in a day and counties where it hangs around and never quite gets there. Summer is drawn blinds in Louisiana, long winds in Wyoming, shade of elms and maples in New England.

Shatner will spin lines in ways you don't see coming - he winds the audience down like a spring and hits the line so hard, they erupt. It's amazing to watch actually.

Pubs would be number one. And black cabs and cabbies - moody cabbies always crack me up. And the other thing I love is the parks: the parks around London don't get enough airtime - I think they're sensational, and when spring hits, the first thing I'll do is go to the park.

The March sun had warmed the land and brought out the buds. Mel had a fleeting thought that seeing this place in full bloom would be glorious, but then reminded herself that she would miss it.

In the spring of 336 BCE, three of his generals led a force across the strait of the Dardanelles from Europe to Asia.

Looking down on the scene in the spring of 1453 one would also be able to make out the fortified Genoese town of Galata, a tiny Italian city state on the far side of the Horn, and to see exactly where Europe ends.

Our lips were for each other and our eyes were full of dreams. We knew nothing of travel and we knew nothing of loss. Ours was a world of eternal spring, until the summer came.

No other woman had that air of spring in January, that ever-bubbling fount of love and hope.

White double bloodroot and blue scilla covered yards on my path to the store. The leather knuckles of milkweed were pushing from the earth. Dark hemlocks and pine were tipped with tiny tender green needles. People wandered about like toddlers, bending over to look at last year's dried grass. They watched the sky and examined the tags of newly planted city trees. And the air—it was a clean cold food.

To Delphine, the hesitation of March was cheering. March was all expectation, a gathering of power. Still cold but marginally warmer every day - a hopeful time of the year

The cold sap was a spring tonic. When you drank it, you shared the genius of the woods.

He wondered if he would ever see the inside of one of those houses whose great windows blared sheaves of light. They made huge blurred spears that reached out into the balmy spring darkness.

Life had sprung up along the trail. The thin film of green in the trees had become a cloud of new leaves. Robins, bluebirds, vireos, finches, songbirds of all types made the brush along the trail a wall of sharp melody.