Quotes About Spring

There's no one season such delight can bring As summer, autumn, winter, and the spring.

winter sneaks up on me before summer ends in my heart the spring blossoms arrive when my mind is still snowed in

in a winter fireplace burns the fantasy of spring — wildflowers flaming across a lush wooded landscape

To me it seems that youth is like spring, an overpraised season — delightful if it happen to be a favoured one, but in practice very rarely favoured and more remarkable, as a general rule, for biting east winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.

O fair are thy days, September, The dearest of all the year; Thou art far enough from November, Its shadows we need not fear; Soon after the heat of August Thou comest our hearts to cheer, With ripened fruits from the buds of spring, With golden sheaves from fields of green.

Skipping turns your legs into built-in pogo sticks.

It was one of those yearning and gentle days of late spring, suddenly warm, when the air turns greenish yellow, so thick is it with pollen and bloom.

Les anges les anges dans le ciel L'un est vêtu en officier L'un est vêtu en cuisinier Et les autres chantent Bel officier couleur du ciel Le doux printemps longtemps après Noël Te médaillera d'un beau soleil D'un beau soleil Le cuisinier plume les oies Ah! tombe neige Tombe et que n'ai-je Ma bien-aimée entre mes bras

Even the birds above the lake Are singing of my love, And even the flowers along the shore Are growing for her sake. All the vines are ripening And the trees come into bud, For my love's footsteps passing by Are summoning the spring. Rian's stars in the night Shine more brightly over her, The god's moon and the goddess's Guard her with their light. Even the birds above the lake Are singing of my love, And even the flowers along the shore Are growing for her sake

It was surprising how easy it was to think about the unthinkable if you'd had a few glasses of wine on a spring night.

Spring!' thought Miss Maszkerádi. 'You are an idiot. I just don't believe you!

The air smelled like Bayou Teche when it's spring and the fish are spawning among the water hyacinths and the frogs are throbbing in the cattails and the flooded cypress.

The air smelled like Bayou Teche when is spring and the fish are spawning among the water hyacinths and the frogs are throbbing in cattails and the flooded cypress.

But perhaps age has taught me that the earth is still new, molten at the core and still forming, that black leaves in the winter forest will crawl with life in the spring, that our story is ongoing and it is indeed a crime to allow the heart's energies to dissipate with the fading of light on the horizon.

It was the kind of timeless evening in Louisiana when spring and fall and winter and summer come together in a perfect equinox, so exquisite and lovely that the dying of the light seems a violation of a divine ordinance. It was an evening that was wonderful in every way possible.

But perhaps age has taught me that the earth is still new, molten at the core and still forming, that black leaves in the winter forest will crawl with life in the spring, that our story is ongoing and it is indeed a crime to allow the heart's energies to dissipate with the fading of light on the horizon. I can't be sure. I brood upon it and sleep little. I wait like a denied lover for the blue glow of dawn.

As far as sleeping goes, you're up and ready to go at six in the morning. Spring training was always a combination of relaxing and working, and I missed that quite a bit. I missed being around the ball field. A baseball. A bat. The smell of the uniform, you might say. Talking baseball. Seeing opponents as well as the Cubs.

For nine years, till the spring of 1881, we lived in Oxford, in a little house north of the Parks, in what was then the newest quarter of the University town.

I miss the Swedish women on the first day of spring cause they all just blossom in the most incredible way.

Spring won't let me stay in this house any longer! I must get out and breathe the air deeply again.

When I went to San Francisco in that cold late spring of 1967, I did not even know what I wanted to find out, and so I just stayed around a while and made a few friends.

Ev'ry season hath its pleasures: Spring may boast her flow'ry prime, Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures Brighten autumn's sob'rer time... Nor regret the blossoms dying, While we still can taste the fruit.

I love everything about spring! Reeks of hope, new lease on another year, blooming possibilities, lush beds of violet wildflowers along the interstate, nature's annual migration: whooping cranes, manatees, Canadians.

With the engine stalled, we would notice the deep silence reigning in the park around us, in the summer villa before us, in the world everywhere. We would listen enchanted to the whirring of an insect beginning vernal flight before the onset of spring, and we would know what a wondrous thing it was to be alive in a park on a spring day in Istanbul.