A light exists in Spring Not present in the year at any other period When March is scarcely here.
It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.
Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty.
March is a tomboy with tousled hair, a mischievous smile, mud on her shoes and a laugh in her voice.
Life is March weather, savage and serene in one hour.
March 4th, the only day that is also a sentence
With rushing winds and gloomy skies The dark and stubborn Winter dies: Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries, Bidding her earliest child arise; March!
There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.
Love is not a victory march
Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.
What's good about March? Well, for one thing, it keeps February and April apart.
March is a month of considerable frustration - it is so near spring and yet across a great deal of the country the weather is still so violent and changeable that outdoor activity in our yards seems light years away.
Truth is on the march, and nothing will stop it.
March is the month God created to show people who don't drink what a hangover is like.
March is the month of expectation, The things we do not know, The Persons of Prognostication Are coming now. We try to sham becoming firmness, But pompous joy Betrays us, as his first betrothal Betrays a boy.
The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day. When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, a cloud come over the sunlit arch, And wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March.
Spring. March fans it, April christens it, and May puts on its jacket and trousers.
One swallow does not make a summer, but one skein of geese, cleaving the murk of March thaw, is the Spring.
No man has a right to fix the boundary of the march of a nation; no man has a right to say to his country - thus far shalt thou go and no further.
Tis now the twenty-third of march, And this warm sun takes out the starch Of winter's pinafore - Methinks The Very pasture gladly drinks A health to spring, and while it sips It faintly smacks a myriad lips.
Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
Tourism is the march of stupidity.
Here at CBS, spring also means March Madness. I love the name March Madness. I'm glad the PC police haven't made us change March Madness to early spring psychosis.
A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King.
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