In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.
April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go.
It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want—oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!
Spring is God's way of saying, 'One more time!'
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.
I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet in a garden.
Hoe while it is spring, and enjoy the best anticipations. It is not much matter if things do not turn out well.
Pippa's Song The year's at the spring The day's at the morn Morning's at seven, The Hill side's dew-pearled The lark's on the wing The snail's on the thorn God's in his heaven- All's right with the world
I think that no matter how old or infirm I may become, I will always plant a large garden in the spring. Who can resist the feelings of hope and joy that one gets from participating in nature's rebirth?
Nothing is so beautiful as spring- When weeds in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush.
God is in his Heaven, all's right with the world.
The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month.
The day the Lord created hope was probably the same day he created Spring.
For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered isgrief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
Science has never drummed up quite as effective a tranquilizing agent as a sunny spring day.
Every April God rewrites the book of Genesis.
This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green, Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes, Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes. I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration, Faces of people streaming across my gaze.
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