Quotes
Quotes about Spring
Springtime is the land awakening. The March winds are the morning yawn.
The nicest thing about the promise of spring is that sooner or later she'll have to keep it.
Keep your faith in all beautiful things; in the sun when it is hidden, in the Spring when it is gone.
Springtime is the land awakening. The March winds are the morning yawn.
The nicest thing about the promise of spring is that sooner or later she'll have to keep it.
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
A person without a sense of humor is like a wagon without springs--jolted by every pebble in the road.
Spring is a natural resurrection, an experience in immortality.
Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.
A wounded deer leaps highest, I've heard the hunter tell; 'Tis but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still. The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs,, A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings Mirth is mail of anguish, In which its cautious arm Lest anybody spy the blood And, you're hurt exclaim.
The willingness to accept responsibility for one's own life is the source from which self-respect springs.
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
The Swallow and the Crow The Swallow and the Crow had a contention about their plumage. The Crow put an end to the dispute by saying, Your feathers are all very well in the spring, but mine protect me against the winter. Fair weather friends are not worth much.
Jupiter and the Monkey Jupiter issued a proclamation to all the beasts of the forest and promised a royal reward to the one whose offspring should be deemed the handsomest. The Monkey came with the rest and presented, with all a mother's tenderness, a flat-nosed, hairless, ill-featured young Monkey as a candidate for the promised reward. A general laugh saluted her on the presentation of her son. She resolutely said, I know not whether Jupiter will allot the prize to my son, but this I do know, that he is at least in the eyes of me his mother, the dearest, handsomest, and most beautiful of all.
Great albatross!--the meanest birds Spring up and flit away, While thou must toil to gain a flight, And spread those pinions grey; But when they once are fairly poised, Far o'er each chirping thing Thou sailest wide to other lands, E'en sleeping on the wing.
It is wrong to think that love comes from long companionship and persevering courtship. Love is the offspring of spiritual affinity and unless that affinity is created in a moment, it will not be created for years or even generations.
Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls. Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in; Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in, Dresses in which to do nothing at all; Dresses for Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall; All of them different in color and shape. Silk, muslin, and lace, velvet, satin, and crape, Brocade and broadcloth, and other material, Quite as expensive and much more ethereal.
See where she comes, apparelled like the spring, Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king Of every virtue gives renown to men!
What plant we in this apple tree? Sweets for a hundred flowery springs To load the May-wind's restless wings, When, from the orchard-row, he pours Its fragrance through our open doors; A world of blossoms for the bee, Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, We plant with the apple tree.
Now the noisy winds are still; April's coming up the hill! All the spring is in her train, Led by shining ranks of rain; Pit, pat, patter, clatter, Sudden sun and clatter patter! . . . . All things ready with a will, April's coming up the hill!
April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain.
Sweet April-time--O cruel April-time! Year after year returning, with a brow Of promise, and red lips with longing paled, And backward-hidden hands that clutch the joys Of vanished springs, like flowers.
From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him; Yet nor the lays of birds, not the sweet smell Of different flowers in odor and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, As with your shadow I with these did play.
Art is good when it springs from necessity. This kind of origin is the guarantee of its value; there is no other.
When thou cam'st first, Thou strok'st me and made much of me; wouldst give me Water with berries in't; and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night; and then I loved thee And showed thee all the qualities o' th' isle, The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile.
