Beginning with doom in the bulb, the spring unravels.
Meanwhile spring arrived. My old dejection passed away and gave place to the unrest which spring brings with it, full of dreams and vague hopes and desires.
The world's favorite season is the spring. All things seem possible in May.
Spring is a true reconstructionist.
Early spring is the time for vigorous change, a preparation for the heat-driven oppression that is to come.
The bed of flowers Loosens amain, The beauteous snowdrops Droop o'er the plain. The crocus opens Its glowing bud, Like emeralds others, Others, like blood. With saucy gesture Primroses flare, And roguish violets, Hidden with care; And whatsoever There stirs and strives, The Spring's contented, If works and thrives.
Every kiss provokes another. Oh, in those earliest days of love how naturally the kisses spring to life! So closely, in their profusion, do they crowd together that lovers would find it as hard to count the kisses exchanged in an hour as to count the flowers in a meadow in May.
I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists
I don't worry about playing basketball; that comes natural. I just want to have fun. David Robinson, Patrick Ewing, Michael Jordan: this is like spring break in the ghetto.
O months of blossoming, months of transfigurations, May without cloud and June stabbed to the heart, I shall not ever forget the lilacs or the roses Nor those the spring has kept folded away apart.
So fair, so cold; like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter's chill.
Long distance is the next best thing to being there. But a dove in love would rather reach out and touch someone. Spring is in the air and all lines are busy with local calls as the wooing and cooing commences.
The course of the seasons is a piece of clockwork, with a cuckoo to call when it is spring.
A name is important. It isn't something you drop in the litter basket or on the ground. Your name is now people know you. The very mention of your name makes a picture spring to mind, whether it's a picture of clashing fists or a mighty mountain that can't be knocked down. Your name is who you are and how you're known even when you do something great or something dumb.
How passionately we love everything that cannot last: the dazzling crystallory of winter, the spring in bloom, the fragile flight of butterflies, crimson sunsets, a kiss, and life.
True patriotism springs from a belief in the dignity of the individual, freedom and equality not only for Americans but for all people on earth, universal brotherhood and good will, and a constant and earnest striving toward the principles and ideals on which this country was founded.
I pray that the life of this spring and summer may ever lie fair in my memory.
You don’t spring into good cooking naked. You have to have some training. You have to learn how to eat.
It is autumn; not without But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that have grown old.
When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd / And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, / I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pool singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white; Robins will wear their feathery fire, Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done. Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, If mankind perished utterly; And Spring herself when she woke at dawn Would scarcely know that we were gone.
Those ancients who in poetry presented the golden age, who sang its happy state, perhaps, in their Parnassus, dreamt this place. Here, mankind's root was innocent; and here were every fruit and never-ending spring; these streams--the nectar of which poets sing.
Spring is a time to find out where you are, who you are, and move toward where you are going.
Spring is about to spring. Persephone is coming back and the ice is groaning, about to break with the exquisite and deafening roar. It's a time for madness; a time for our fangs to come down and our eyes to glaze over so that the beast in us can sing with unmitigated joy. Oh yes, ecstasy, I welcome thee!
There was always something hidden. Lying in wait to spring up and ruin everything.
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