O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
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.
And Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast
rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
She turned to the sunlight And shook her yellow head, And whispered to her neighbor: "Winter is dead.
April is a promise that May is bound to keep.
That God once loved a garden we learn in Holy writ.
And seeing gardens in the Spring I well can credit it.
No Winter lasts forever, no Spring skips its turn. April is a promise that May is bound to keep, and we know it.
Hoe while it is spring, and enjoy the best anticipations. It is not much matter if things do not turn out well.
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 when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.
God is in his Heaven, all's right with the world.
No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.
Science has never drummed up quite as effective a tranquilizing agent as a sunny spring day.
The naked earth is warm with Spring,
And with green grass and bursting trees
Leans to the sun's kiss glorying,
And quivers in the sunny breeze.
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?
I stare out the window and wait for spring.
The day the Lord created hope was probably the same day he created Spring.
In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.
If we had not winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
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.
People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.
Every spring is the only spring, a perpetual astonishment.
Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.
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