Quotes About Spring

I'm saying I know all about you, whoever you are, it's spring and it's starting again, the longing that begins, and begins, and begins.

Dear beautiful Spring weather, I miss you. Was it something I said?

Dazzling jacaranda petals covered the sidewalk like a carpet of amethyst velvet. It always amazes me how the trees sit so quietly, unnoticed all spring, until one day it feels as if every single one throughout the city bursts with blossoms at the exact same second.

Spring is well underway, and the wild cherry trees are in full bloom. The fields are filled with darling violets and buttercups, and the sides of the road lined with the blossoms that will become berries in the summer heat. I know from the weather report that a crisp spring light is shining down on the navy blue water of Saratoga Passage, and my view, whether I can see it or not, will remain unchanged. I wrote to you once about the comfort I find in that. This remains true.

One day the Inuit journeyed out to gather grass along the coast. When they got to where they were going and found the grass stunted by a late spring, they sat down and in Nansen's words "waited for the grass to grow." The lesson is simple. Be patient, stay put.

I feel like a weed in the midst of Winter. 'Tis the sunshine of your smile that will bring back the Spring of my days. We arrive in four days. I hope you will grace me again with your presence. Yours, Morgan (Morgan's letter)

She is beautiful, isn't she? (Lochlan) Like the first day of spring after a long, harsh winter. (Sin)

But now it was spring again, and spring was almost unbearable for sensitive hearts. It drove creation to its utmost limits, it wafted its spice-laden breath even into the nostrils of the innocent.

It's hard to walk briskly at this time of year; the accelerating pace of unfolding spring slows my own. I repeatedly stop- to watch what's moving. Soon the torrent of migrants will completely overwhelm my ability to keep up with all the changes. But it's easy to revel in the exuberance and the sense of rebirth, renewal.

Her soul was a fifth season, of richer hue than autumn, bursting with more life than spring, hidden away, ready to transform the world with such glory as it had never seen.

PROLOGUE FRIDAY, APRIL 23 OXFORD, ENGLAND ATHENA RAN BLINDLY down the dark country lane, her breath coming in short, harsh gasps. Her school jacket with the St. Polycarp's logo sewn on the pocket was no protection against the sudden drenching spring rain. The knapsack strapped to her body impeded her flight. It did not occur to her to discard it. As the bewildering shock began to wear off, she desperately told herself she was

Like nature, like life. The storm will pass. The night will end. Spring will come.

Banks of azaleas ranging from bright orange to palest pink rioted in the spring gardens.

Hee that is in a towne in May loseth his spring.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,A box where sweets compacted lie.

A poet, any real poet, is simply an alchemist who transmutes his cynicism regarding human beings into an optimism regarding the moon, the stars, the heavens, and the flowers, to say nothing of the spring, love, and dogs.

You'll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers.

You'll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers." Arya didn't think it was funny. "I hate needlework!" she said with passion. "It's not fair!

It was no half-hearted spring, this: the whole island vibrated with it as though a great, ringing chord had been struck. Everyone and everything heard it and responded.

yellow as a primrose, some great fat white doves

I lifted the latch, and there he stood, dark and tall, the scholar's gown falling from his shoulders like the cloak of the Black Knight in the old tale. His arms were laden with boughs of apple blossom. He lifted a branch, high over my head, and shook it, so that the petals showered me, releasing a heady scent that promised spring.

The loveliest of trees, the cherry now is hung with bloom along the bough, and stands about the woodland ride wearing white for Eastertide.

Oh, to be in England Now that April's there.

Among the changing months, May stands confest The sweetest, and in fairest colors dressed.