Quotes About Season

It's such a long season, right? It's certainly serious business, but it's no sense that we all have to be miserable doing it.

Awards season is big for me - I love following all the films and who might be nominated.

Normally the teams that are in the NFC and AFC championship games are the teams that are going to be right there in the forefront as the season begins.

Our human calendars take little notice of such dates, but nighthawk migrations tell of shortening days and a season's end.

We were able to change the mold of the regular season for Notre Dame basketball, so we thought, 'Why can't we do it in the postseason?'

I've always said that the games in November are the ones you remember.

If months were marked by colors, November in New England would be colored gray.

I despise the wintertime. I never did see what was the use in there even bein one.

I actually liked the disolation of winter; it was the season when it was okay to be unhappy. If I were to ever kill myself, I thought it would be in the summer.

Every fall God turns water into wine in France and Chile and the Napa Valley.

But the most important harvest, after gleaning for frumenty, was the blackberries.

It was the kind of winter day that makes you forget that the weather was ever any different, and you feel like it has been winter all the way back to Adam.

Grownups are the ones who puzzle me at Christmastime...Who, but a grownup, would ruin a beautiful holiday season for himself by suddenly attempting to correspond with four hundred people he doesn't see all year?

All right, team... This is our first game of the season... If we all show the right spirit, I think we can win this one. Let's try to encourage each other... Let's hear a little chatter out there, okay?" "YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL, KID!

Such days of autumnal decline hold a strange mystery which adds to the gravity of all our moods.

Christmas: the one time of year when you can't avoid the nuts in your family muesli.

It's spider season. Every year, right about now, thousands of the godless eight-legged bastards emerge from the bowels of hell (or the garden, whichever's nearest) with the sole intention of tormenting humankind.

It was April in Minneapolis and snowing, the flakes coming down in thick swirls enchanting the city

Cold weather in spring makes the ass shiver.

Summer has set in with its usual severity.

Best I love September's yellow...

July is the high noon of the northern year... firefly nights and corn growing so fast out in Ioway that you can hear its joints pop in the moonlight.

That time of year, you know, when the summer, beginning to sadden, Full-mooned and silver-misted, glides from the heart of September, Mourned by desolate crickets, and iterant grasshoppers, crying All the still nights long, from the ripened abundance of gardens...

Now had the season returned when the nights grow colder and longer, And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters...