Quotes About Spring

I was grieving the way the earth seems to grieve for spring in the dead of winter, but I wasn't afraid, because nothing, I told myself, can take our halcyon days away.

Tiene uno, como la naturaleza, sus estaciones, sus ciclos de vida? En el curso de quince o veinte días pasa una primavera y un verano en el fondo del alma, y luego viene un día violento en que nos quedamos sin hojas, y fríos, e inmóviles.

True Christian love is not derived from things without, but floweth from the heart, as from a spring.

I am happy the leaves are growing large so quickly. Soon they will hide the neighbor and her screaming child.

Who would not chose to have been one of God's three hundred? But when he brings us to the Spring of Trembling, how rarely we covet the post of honor. How we shrink from the battle of the present, even while we honor the heroism that courted it in the past. Every era has its battle. God's trumpet calls to-day, as Gideon's did, for recruits. Enter the ranks.

I've seen spring come to the orchard every year as far back as I can remember and I've never grown tired of it. Oh, the wonder of it! The outrageous beauty! God didn't have to give us cherry blossoms you know. He didn't have to make apple trees and peach trees burst into flower and fragrance. But God just loves to splurge. He gives us all this magnificence and then, if that isn't enough, He provides fruit from such extravagance.

People talk about the beauty of the spring, but I can't see it. The trees are brown and bare, slimy with rain. Some are crawling with new purple hairs. And the buds are bulging like tumorous acne, and I can tell that something wet, and soft, and cold, and misshapen is about to be born. And I am turning into a vampire.

The rosy gleam of his lip, the fevered gleam of his eyes. There was not a line anywhere on his face, nothing creased or graying; all crisp. He was spring, golden and bright. Envious death would drink his blood, and grow young again.

He was watching me closely, reading my face over and over, like a priest searching the auguries for an answer. I could see the slight line in his forehead that meant utmost concentration. Something shifted in me then, like the frozen surface of the Apidanos in spring. I had seen the way he looked at Deidameia; or rather the way he did not. It was the same way he had looked at the boys in Phtia, blank and unseeing. He had never, not once, looked at me that way.

It was spring, and we were surrounded by the profusion of Anatolian fertility. For three weeks the earth would paint herself in every color, burst every bud, unfurl each rioting petal. Then, the wild flush of her excitement spent, she would settle down to the steady work of summer. It was my favorite time of year.

The day was one of those early Spring days that for some mysterious reason, very hard to analyse, are felt to be ill-omened and unpleasant. Something was certainly wrong with this day! All animal nerves felt it. All human nerves felt it. All living things were irritable, restless, disturbed; sick without being sick; sad without being sad; annoyed without any apparent cause for annoyance!

On the most beautiful day any April could be asked to come up with

Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.

You can't see Canada across lake Erie, but you know it's there. It's the same with spring. You have to have faith, especially in Cleveland.

O thou, whose days are yet all spring, Faith, blighted once, is past retrieving; Experience is a dumb, dead thing; The victory's in believing.

He knew ten years of stories. I felt keen and hungry as a bear in spring.

He was spring, golden and bright.

He was spring, golden and bright. Envious death would drink his blood, and grow again.

His eyes, green as spring leaves, met mine. "Patroclus. I have given enough to them. I will not give them this.

A partir de ese momento nuestra amistad se precipitó como los torrentes de montaña en primavera.

Il bagliore roseo delle sue labbra, il verde febbricitante dei suoi occhi. Il suo viso non aveva nemmeno una ruga, nemmeno un'increspatura, un accenno di grigio: era fresco e prefetto. Lui era primavera, dorato e splendente. La Morte invidiosa avrebbe bevuto il suo sangue, e sarebbe diventata giovane di nuovo.

IT WAS SPRING, AND WE WERE FIFTEEN.

He was spring, golden and bright. Envious Death would drink his blood, and grow young again.

El destello rosado de su labio, el verde febril de sus ojos, su rostro desprovisto de arrugas… Nada en él decaía ni se marchitaba. Él era áureo, deslumbrante, era la primavera. La envidiosa muerte se bebería su sangre y sería joven de nuevo.