Quotes About April

3 de abril de 1978 Desesperación: la palabra es demasiado teatral, forma parte del lenguaje. Una piedra.

April 1776, Benjamin Franklin expressed pleasure "with the ease and affability with which we were treated and the lively behaviour of the young ladies.

The Mets just had their first .500-or-better April since July of 1992.

Life in itself / Is nothing, / An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. / It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, / April / Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

The evening sky is gold and vast. I'm soothed by April's cool caress. You're late. Too many years have passed, - I'm glad to see you, nonetheless. Come closer, sit here by my side, Be gentle with me, treat me kind: This old blue notebook – look inside – I wrote these poems as a child. Forgive me that I felt forsaken, That grief and angst was all I knew. Forgive me that I kept mistaking Too many other men for you.

So about an hour later we are in the taxi shooting along empty country roads towards town. The April light is clear as an alarm. As we pass them it gives a sudden sense of every object existing in space on its own shadow. I wish I could carry this clarity with me into the hospital where distinctions tend to flatten and coalesce. I wish I had been nicer to him before he got crazy. These are my two wishes.

It is very cold walking into the long scraped April wind. At this time of the year there is no sunset just some movements inside the light and then as sinking away.

April is a promise that May is bound to keep.

Outside the seasons passed: sun, snow, spring green, October storms . . . was this a vision of my future? When would the shunning hero come, to set the clock if my life in motion again? Would he come some morning, or in the night? In April or December? This year? Next year? I shuddered. No, I wouldn't just sit and wait. I wanted to go out.  Maybe there were new men out there, better men, men who'd just been waiting for me. Somewhere someone is always waiting for someone.

Well, let it pass, he thought; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice. --The Sensible Thing

The cool bathed his eyes and slowed the flight of time-time, that had crept so insidiously through the lazy April afternoons, seemed so intangible in the long spring twilights.

Summer is only the unfulfilled promise of spring, a charlatan in place of the warm balmy nights I dream of in April.

April was devoted to Venus and Ovid at once invokes this goddess in the fourth book of the Fasti. Aprilis may even have emerged from the Etruscan Aphru, which transcribes the Greek name Aphrodite

Ampia e gialla è la luce della sera E tenera è di aprile la frescura, tu sei in ritardo ormai di molti anni, eppure di vederti sono lieta.

On the night of April 18, 1775, eight hundred British troops marched out of Boston to capture Samuel Adams and John Hancock and seize a stockpile of patriot munitions in Concord.

On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town of Meung, in which the author of ROMANCE OF THE ROSE was born

On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town of Meung, in which the author of Romance of the Rose was born, appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just made a second La Rochelle of it.

She was beautiful. That's why her name was April.

Snow in April means a hot summer to come.

bent under the April sun and into the bitter April wind, jackets flapping and eyes squinting, or else skirts pressed to the backs of legs and jacket hems pressed to bottoms. And trailing them, outrunning them, skittering along the gutter and the sidewalk and the low gray steps of the church, banging into ankles and knees and one another, scraps of paper, newspapers, candy wrappers, what else?—office memos? shopping

bent under the April sun and into the bitter April wind, jackets flapping and eyes squinting, or else skirts pressed to the backs of legs and jacket hems pressed to bottoms. And trailing them, outrunning them, skittering along the gutter and the sidewalk and the low gray steps of the church, banging into ankles and knees and one another, scraps of paper, newspapers, candy wrappers, what else?—office memos? shopping lists? The

It was either God's reply or just April again, in the wind tunnel that was midtown

And then the wind paused completely, as it will in April, a sudden silence and maybe even the hint of warmth from the sun, so

Sweet April! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed.