Best 380 quotes in «seasons quotes» category

What we are is seldom what we want to be, while what we want to be is either denied us or changes with the seasons.

What you do in the off season determines what you do in the regular season.

Wherever there is love, there the season transforms into spring!

When it's football season, I'm all football.

Winter = baking season. It's on.

Winter is not a season, it's a celebration.

Winter is the season of alcoholism and despair.

Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.

Winter is not a season, it's an occupation.

Winter: It's not just a season, it's who we are.

With [Fred] Zinnemann I did A Man For All Seasons. He was my screen godfather. I'm happy to say he was.

With every day that goes by, there will be further reductions on what's left of the season.

Why is it called tourist season if we can't shoot at them?

With patience everything comes in due season.

When you have an inconsistent season, you learn a lot about yourself and your pitching.

You can lose a friend in springtime easier than any other season if you're too curious.

You can never pat yourself on the back during the season. Then you get complacent, stop working and let yourself slide.

You have one good game or season, so what? You have to have a career.

You can get a few seasons out of power, even accomplish some things, but over time power can be very damaging to relationships.

You know you're grown up when summer is just a season.

You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

You'll find that there will be an investment for every season, but there will be no investment for all seasons.

You must wait until the end, and at the end of the season you can say it was a good or a bad season.

Youth is a season that has no repose.

All things are beautiful in the sacred time.

All times are determined by God.

All times are sacred and must be kept Holy

Although all days are equally long regardless of the season, some days are long not only seasonally but by rewards they offer.

And no matter how romantic and beautiful Greece was, I wasn't going to break my vows to Henry, even if they technically didn't apply for the next six months. I loved him no matter which season it was.

An early spring started one morning in March with a swarm of sudden, glassy, bird cries, and then the cool jewelry of primrose and violet loosened themselves in the dirt. Then summer burst into the world like a gorgeous car accident- opening eyes all over our bodies in the brilliant light. Fall- the smell of pumpkin guts, sluttish and unsweetened. Until winter fell all over us like pieces of heaven, glazed with oxygen or ether, hitting the grounder in small, cold shards. It was like a year in Eden where no Eve had ever lived.

A season of loneliness and isolation is when the caterpillar gets its wings. Remember that next time you feel alone.

As far as he could discover, there were no signs of spring. The decay that covered the surface of the mottled ground was not the kind in which life generates. Last year, he remembered, May had failed to quicken these soiled fields. It had taken all the brutality of July to torture a few green spikes through the exhausted dirt. What the little park needed, even more than he did, was a drink. Neither alcohol nor rain would do. Tomorrow, in his column, he would ask Broken-hearted, Sick-of-it-all, Desperate, Disillusioned-with-tubercular-husband and the rest of his correspondents to come here and water the soil with their tears. Flowers would then spring up, flowers that smelled of feet. "Ah, humanity..." But he was heavy with shadow and the joke went into a dying fall. He trist to break its fall by laughing at himself.

Autumn has come and reason has gone. Yesterday, I sold the sun for you and tonight the stars are running away from me. When you first spoke, you slowly annihilated my world. Your mouth was like the sea — in your kisses I sank. Your hands were like the ocean — in your caresses I sank. I ask for no salvation on this moonless night. I only ask for more Autumn.

Autumn in the country advances in a predictable path, taking its place among the unyielding rhythms of the passing seasons. It follows the summer harvest, ushering in cooler nights, and shorter days, enveloping all of Lanark County in a spectacular riot of colour. Brilliant hues of yellow, orange and red exclaim, in no uncertain terms, that these are the trees where maple syrup legends are born.

Autumn is a fleeting season, melancholy by nature. Its ghostly beauty cultivates a fertile atmosphere for memories that wrote their history on a tablet of fallen leaves - I recall them with the greatest clarity... Whatever else autumn may be, it is the prophet of winter. Winter lasts forever.

Autumn is Nature's last party of the year. And dressing for the occasion, forests don their brightest attire, while the creatures follow suit with plush coats of fur. As the birds savor their final flights in the waning embers of light, Nature's children scamper about in search of manna for their winter pantries, pausing long enough to frolic in the heaps of newly fallen leaves." ["Autumn Suppers," Orange Coast Magazine, Oct. 1983]

Autumn is when leaves, like fruits, ripen. ~Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu

Autumn The season between summer and winter, comprising in the Northern Hemisphere usually the months of September, October and November. A period of maturity.

A year in Vermont, according to an old saw, is "nine months of winter followed by three months of very poor sledding.

A Corymbus for Autumn How are the veins of thee, Autumn, laden? Umbered juices, And pulpèd oozes Pappy out of the cherry-bruises, Froth the veins of thee, wild, wild maiden. With hair that musters In globèd clusters, In tumbling clusters, like swarthy grapes, Round thy brow and thine ears o'ershaden; With the burning darkness of eyes like pansies, Like velvet pansies Where through escapes The splendid might of thy conflagrate fancies; With robe gold-tawny not hiding the shapes Of the feet whereunto it falleth down, Thy naked feet unsandalled; With robe gold-tawny that does not veil Feet where the red Is meshed in the brown, Like a rubied sun in a Venice-sail.

Autumn The autumn comes, a maiden fair In slenderness and grace, With nodding rice-stems in her hair And lilies in her face. In flowers of grasses she is clad; And as she moves along, Birds greet her with their cooing glad Like bracelets' tinkling song.

Autumn Days Yellow, mellow, ripened days, Sheltered in a golden coating; O'er the dreamy, listless haze, White and dainty cloudlets floating; Winking at the blushing trees, And the sombre, furrowed fallow; Smiling at the airy ease, Of the southward flying swallow. Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Beauteous, golden Autumn days.

Behind every summer is a fall just waiting to happen.

Be in something for a reason for seasons weather.

Spring and Autumn Every season hath its pleasures; Spring may boast her flowery prime, Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time.

But here I am in July, and why am I thinking about Christmas pudding? Probably because we always pine for what we do not have. The winter seems cozy and romantic in the hell of summer, but hot beaches and sunlight are what we yearn for all winter.

But I know Jesus arose. I feel his presence now, here, with me. I see the evidence of his Word everyday. From creation forth, the whole world is witness to God's plan revealed through his Son. From the beginning, he prepared us. In the passing of the seasons; in the way flowers spring forth, die, and drop seeds for life to begin again; in the sunset and sunrise. Jesus' sacrifice is reenacted every day of our lives if we but have the eyes to see.

But lurking behind every summer was a fall just waiting to happen.

You cannot change the seasons, but you can change yourself.

You read a lot of pilots during pilot season, and not all of them really grab you.