Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.
Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.
The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking.
I suppose the best kind of spring morning is the best weather God has to offer.
We grow great by dreams. All big men are dreamers. They see things in the soft haze of a spring day or in the red fire of a long winter's evening. Some of us let these great dreams die, but others nourish and protect them; nurse them through bad days till they bring them to the sunshine and light which comes always to those who sincerely hope that their dreams will come true.
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
The seasons are what a symphony ought to be: four perfect movements in harmony with each other.
May is a pious fraud of the almanac.
Break open A cherry tree And there are no flowers; But the spring breeze Brings forth myriad blossoms.
You can't see Canada across lake Erie, but you know it's there. It's the same with spring. You have to have faith, especially in Cleveland.
As sure as the spring will follow the winter, prosperity and economic growth will follow recession.
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing- Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay- Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet- Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring, the sweet Spring!
It is disturbing to discover in oneself these curious revelations of the validity of the Darwinian theory. If it is true that we have sprung from the ape, there are occasions when my own spring appears not to have been very far.
Every April God rewrites the book of Genesis.
They know who keep a broken tryst, Till something from the Spring be missed We have not truly known the Spring.
Spring is the Period Express from God.
You have to be like a clock spring, wound but not loose at the same time.
At the best of times, spring hurts depressives.
The spring sea rising and falling, rising and falling all day.
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.
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.
I had always planned to make a large painting of the early spring, when the first leaves are at the bottom of the trees, and they seem to float in space in a wonderful way. But the arrival of spring can't be done in one picture.
I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet in a garden.
The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night With comfort are downward gazing.
And all the woods are alive with the murmur and sound of Spring, And the rose-bud breaks into pink on the climbing briar, And the crocus-bed is a quivering moon of fire Girdled round with the belt of an amethyst ring.
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