April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
Spring. March fans it, April christens it, and May puts on its jacket and trousers.
What delights us in the spring is more a sensation than an appearance, more a hope than any visible reality. There is something in the softness of the air, in the lengthening of the days, in the very sounds and odors of the sweet time, that caresses us and consoles us after the rigorous weeks of winter.
Hark, I hear a robin calling! List, the wind is from the south! And the orchard-bloom is falling Sweet as kisses on the mouth. In the dreamy vale of beeches Fair and faint is woven mist, And the river's orient reaches Are the palest amethyst. Every limpid brook is singing Of the lure of April days; Every piney glen is ringing With the maddest roundelays. Come and let us seek together Springtime lore of daffodils, Giving to the golden weather Greeting on the sun-warm hills.
It is the ability to take a joke, not make one, that proves you have a sense of humor.
Again the blackbirds sings; the streams Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, And tremble in the April showers The tassels of the maple flowers.
April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four.
April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
Flower god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful, Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles, Here I wander in April Cold, grey-headed; and still to my Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer, Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant; Spring, flower-planter in meadows, Child-conductor in willowy Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses: Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity: O child, happy are children!
April, April Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears.
The first of April is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year.
The greatest lesson in life is to know that even fools are right sometimes.
April is the cruellest month.
Snow in April is abominable," said Anne. "Like a slap in the face when you expect a kiss.
April, the angel of the months, the young love of the year.
I have seen the Lady April bringing the daffodils, Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain.
Today is April 1, April Fools' Day, a day that people try to fool their friends and relatives. Don't confuse that with April 15, when people try to fool the IRS.
If only we could touch the things of this world at their center, if we could only hear tiny leaves of birch struggling toward April, then we would know.
How many million Aprils came before I ever knew how white a cherry bough could be, a bed of squills, how blue And many a dancing April when life is done with me, will lift the blue flame of the flower and the white flame of the tree Oh burn me with your beauty then, oh hurt me tree and flower, lest in the end death try to take even this glistening hour.
Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!
A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.
The children with the streamlets sing, When April stops at last her weeping; And every happy growing thing Laughs like a babe just roused from sleeping.
Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
Oh, how this spring of love resembleth, The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all beauty of the Sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away
it was only a hopeless fantasy, it passed like an april day, but a look and a word and the dreams they stirred they have stolen my heart away.
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