Best 2164 quotes in «spring quotes» category

In the soul of a lover, it is always spring where flowers of ecstasy are always blooming. Music of love is always playing.

In your winter you deny your spring,

Is it difficult to recognize spring when the air is dancing with joy and the flowers are blooming bright colorful smiles?

It does last," Horace said. "Spring does. You'd almost think there was some purpose to it.

It had been in a Paris house, with many people around, and my dear friend Jules Darboux, wishing to do me a refined aesthetic favor, had touched my sleeve and said, "I want you to meet-" and led me to Nina, who sat in the corner of a couch, her body folded Z-wise, with an ashtray at her heel, and she took a long turquoise cigarette holder from her lips and joyfully, slowly exclaimed, "Well, of all people-" and then all evening my heart felt like breaking, as I passed from group to group with a sticky glass in my fist, now and then looking at her from a distance (she did not look...), and listening to scraps of conversation, and overheard one man saying to another, "Funny, how they all smell alike, burnt leaf through whatever perfume they use, those angular dark-haired girls," and as it often happens, a trivial remark related to some unknown topic coiled and clung to one's own intimate recollection, a parasite of its sadness.

I thought for our last session we should celebrate spring," Lillian said, coming out of the kitchen with a large blue bowl in her hands. "The first green things coming up through soft earth. I've always thought the year begins in the spring rather than January, anyway. I like the idea of taking the first asparagus of the year, picked right that day, and putting it in a warm, creamy risotto. It celebrates both seasons and takes you from one to the next in just a few bites." They passed the bowl around the table, using the large silver spoon to serve generous helpings. The salad bowl came next, fresh Bibb lettuce and purple onions and orange slices, touched with oil and lemon and orange juice. Then a bread basket, heaped high with slices of fragrant, warm bread.

It is always a joyful spring when your heart can dance and your soul can sing.

It is so small a thing to have enjoyed the sun, to have lived light in the spring, to have loved, to have thought, to have done.

It is one of the oddest and sometimes one of the most charming characteristics of English weather that at times one season borrows complete days from another, spring from summer, winter from spring. And it may be that these milky days of winter, which seem borrowed from April, are automatically filled with the sadness of things out of their time.

It is spring, let us dance and dream with flowers. Let us sing and enjoy the trees.

It's exciting to see things coming up again, plants that you've had twenty or thirty years. It's like seeing an old friend.

It's not just in the air. Spring is in the light. There's a different light in March and April. It's in the grass, leaves and flowers. It's in the birdsong and baaa of baby lambs. Mostly though, spring blooms in my heart

It’s hard to walk briskly at this time of year; the accelerating pace of unfolding spring slows my own. I repeatedly stop- to watch what’s moving. Soon the torrent of migrants will completely overwhelm my ability to keep up with all the changes. But it’s easy to revel in the exuberance and the sense of rebirth, renewal.

It's not the deprivations of winter that get you, or the damp of spring, but the no-man's land between.

It's not an Arab Spring, it's a European Spring.

It took the mountain top, it seems to me now, to give me the sensation of independence. It was as if I'd discovered something I'd never tasted before in my short life. Or rediscovered it - for I associated it with the taste of water that came out of the well, accompanied with the ring of that long metal sleeve against the sides of the living mountain, as from deep down it was wound up to view brimming and streaming long drops behind it like bright stars on a ribbon. It thrilled me to drink from the common dipper. The coldness, the far, unseen, unheard springs of what was in my mouth now, the iron smell, all said mountain mountain mountain as I swallowed. Every swallow was making me a part of being here, sealing me in place, with my bare feet planted on the mountain and sprinkled with my rapturous spills. What I felt I'd come here to do was something on my own.

It was a beautiful spring night, the air rain-washed and smelling of crushed blossoms, and Henry felt as if the muscles of his body were singing in unison.

It was another mild day, signaling the transition from winter to spring. The trees unfolded their leaves as they awoke from their long winter nap. In the cloudless blue sky, birds chirped as they floated from tree to tree on the light breeze and alighted to outstretched limbs. The first flowers of spring dotted the landscape with a prelude of the bright, vibrant colors about to spill over the muted and dull tones dominating the palate of the lifeless winter season just passed.

It's that magnificent interlude in New York between winter and spring, when you feel the warmth stirring, and you remember that the dreadful naked trees will inevitably sprout tiny green buds, soon. Everyone rushes into the parks, the streets--and you even forget that, very soon , summer will come scorchingly, dropping from the sky like a blanket of steam...

It was a night of early spring, The winter-sleep was scarcely broken; Around us shadows and the wind Listened for what was never spoken. Though half a score of years are gone, Spring comes as sharply now as then— But if we had it all to do It would be done the same again. It was a spring that never came; But we have lived enough to know That what we never have, remains; It is the things we have that go.

It was a perfect spring day. The air was sweet and gentle and the sky stretched high, an intense blue. Harold was certain that the last time he had peered through the net drapes of Fossebridge Road (his home), the trees and hedges were dark bones and spindles against the skyline; yet now that he was out, and on his feet, it was as if everywhere he looked, the fields, gardens, trees, and hedgerows and exploded with growth. A canopy of sticky young leaves clung to the branches above him. There were startling yellow clouds of forsythia, trails of purple aubrietia; a young willow shook in a fountain of silver. The first of the potato shoots fingered through the soil, and already tiny buds hung from the gooseberry and currant shrubs like the earrings Maureen used to wear. The abundance of new life was enough to make him giddy.

Let you remind yourself once more today that times of suffering or privation do not lasts forever. All winters always turn to spring i.e. in principle, no spring skips its turn. This is the law of the universe & the law of life. As long as we hold on to hopes, spring is sure to come in our lives too. All it needs is your time, earnest efforts, right pace, devotion, dedication, goodness & perseverance to make everything peachy, delightful & beautiful in your life & in your world back again & again. Let you also practice self-care, mindfulness, healing, joy & stop yourself from burning out in the mean time. Let your good deeds help you to create a more unprejudiced, peaceful, happy & sustainable world around yourself. Let you engage yourself more in all that is auspicious & let God bless you & keep you in good health & spirits always. Stay Magical, Extraordinary & Successful!

It was spring when it happened and the schoolroom windows were open all day long, and every afternoon after Billy left we had milk from little waxy cartons and Mrs. Jansma would read us chapters from a wonderful book about some children in England that had a bed that took them places at night.

It was the week after Easter holidays, and he was journeying along with Smart the mare and the light spring-cart, watching the damp slopes of the hill-sides as they steamed in the warmth of the sun, which at this unsettled season shone on the grass with the freshness of an occasional inspector rather than as an accustomed proprietor.

I want to do with you what spring does with cherry trees.

I was behind in school, there were papers to write and exams were coming up but still I was young; the grass was green and the air was heavy with the sound of bees and I had just come back from the brink of Death itself, back to the sun and air. Now I was free; and my life, which I had thought was lost, stretched out indescribably precious and sweet before me.

It was sunny, a rarity for Indiana in April, and everyone at the farmers' market was wearing short sleeves even though the temperature didn't quite justify it. We Hoosiers are excessively optimistic about summer.

It was too strong in the air. I had no rest against that springtime! The pounding of the hoofs on the raw sods stayed with me half through the night. I awoke smiling but tired.

I watch the trees all dressed up in the Spring, While posing as they stand in line, Placing their best foot forward, showing off their leaves and fighting for attention, One tree at a time

Los milicianos corrieron por las calles mientras los ciudadanos se escondían, desesperados, entre casas viejas, en los pozos, en las despensas de sus vecinos. Cerraban las puertas los padres de familia y asían con fuerza sus mejores cuchillos. Las mujeres abrazaban a sus hijos, las sirvientas aseguraban las ventanas. Algunos, los más temerosos, se acurrucaban en el camastro con la débil seguridad de las velas encendidas. Esa noche, los lobos tomaron Barcelona, y en ese ferviente caos de guerra y muerte, Fortuna desenvainó su espada. Había entendido el mensaje. «Gryal está aquí», decían los lobos. «Ha vuelto la primavera», decía su aullido.

Look back upon winter with gratitude. Spring is the harvest of the darker months—everything you know starts to grow in darkness. Don't write and tell me that winter brought you only colds or the ubiquitous virus. Perhaps it did bring those (and to me as well). Who goes through the chilly months unscathed? But it also brought things not to be forgotten—silver moons and snow, brilliant under stars; it brought Christmas and a new year, and to each of us something happy, something unexpected, which was not another problem but a joy. For the pendulum swings; nothing is static; and the road, however long, does turn.

Love is the Way, and the way to cultivate that Love is through understanding that there is only One Love from which all life springs forth and that nothing can separate us from this Love, - for we are it, united as one as we truly are, one. So Love, please Love. Always come back to the Way. For the Way is Love.

Love in a night shall live and die, Love in a day shall wing and fly; Love in the Spring shall last an hour, Easily fade a spring-tide flower.

Love must be as beautiful as spring flowers and as bright as the morning sun.

May: the lilacs are in bloom. Forget yourself.

May, more than any other month of the year, wants us to feel most alive.

My everlasting Summer fills heart with laughter like a blooming flower... Her diverse sounds is nature's symphony, sprinkle delight, with comfort of ocean breeze which needs no attest.. The unique every moment of soul's revival and its sun to shine...

Moonlit plum tree- wait, spring will come.

Meanwhile, spring came, and with it the outpourings of Nature. The hills were soon splashed with wild flowers; the grass became an altogether new and richer shade of green; and the air became scented with fresh and surprising smells -- of jasmine, honeysuckle, and lavender.

Merriem carries the enormous saucepan, a cloud of steam rising from it, into the dining room. "Spring risotto," she calls it. It's got snipped garlic scapes, tons of parsley, and just-wilted pea greens piled on top. Summer carries a big glazed terra-cotta saucer full of tiny new potatoes with butter and freshly torn mint, and I bring the asparagus, which Merriem calls "speary-grass," served with simple seasoning.

My breathe would catch at the sight of violets-so common in the woods at home, so surprising in the mountains. The violet's message was "Keep up your courage, stay true to what you believe in." p264

Oh, magical summer time, It can make you happy or blue something that leaves one's heart reeling , Looking for that feeling every single day ...

New Year is a spring time! Open up like a flower! Let the world see your energy! And when the world see your energy and enthusiasm, the previously locked doors will be opened to you!

No matter where one looked, the sky had a clean-washed appearance. There was not a trace of a cloud to be seen anywhere in its vast expanse. It was one of those days that made one want to open doors and gates to release the last traces of winter, to watch them disappear like thin wisps of smoke into the farthest reaches of the sky.

O, flower! If you bloom with love in spring, will you understand if my soul sings?

Oh, sweet cherry tree- how lovely your blossoms are. Spring brings joy to life.

Ô, Muse of the Heart’s Passion, let me relive my Love’s memory, to remember her body, so brave and so free, and the sound of my Dreameress singing to me, and the scent of my Dreameress sleeping by me, Ô, sing, sweet Muse, my soliloquy!

Nature is well-spring of life.

New Season No coats today. Buds bulge on chestnut trees, And on the doorstep of a big, old house A young man stands and plays his flute. I watch the silver notes fly up And circle in the blue sky above the traffic, Travelling where they will. And suddenly this paving-stone Midway between my front door and the bus stop Is a starting point. From here I can go anywhere I choose.

Noi siamo invecchiate. Abbiamo incontrato voi, i vostri padri e i padri dei vostri padri. Abbiamo incontrato il paese che è divenuto città, e la città è cresciuta sempre di più fino ad inglobare i cuori delle persone, che ora non celebrano più l'arrivo della Primavera.