Best 380 quotes in «seasons quotes» category

The moon grew plump and pale as a peeled apple, waned into the passing nights, then showed itself again as a thin silver crescent in the twilit western sky. The shed of leaves became a cascade of red and gold and after a time the trees stood skeletal against a sky of weathered tin. The land lay bled of its colors. The nights lengthened, went darker, brightened in their clustered stars. The chilled air smelled of woodsmoke, of distances and passing time. Frost glimmered on the morning fields. Crows called across the pewter afternoons. The first hard freeze cast the countryside in ice and trees split open with sounds like whipcracks. Came a snow flurry one night and then a heavy falling the next day, and that evening the land lay white and still under a high ivory moon.

The most amazing thing about the winter is that even a frozen world may be perceived as a heaven!

Then the three minutes of black and white are over and what's left is the story of human beings and air, something we hardly ever notice or think about, something we couldn't live without.

The place between actual seasons is filled with tiny roses in transition. There are murders and amputations in the garden. There are choirs on the sandy floors beneath oceans.

The quiet transition from autumn to winter is not a bad time at all. It's a time for protecting and securing things and for making sure you've got in as many supplies as you can. It's nice to gather together everything you possess as close to you as possible, to store up your warmth and your thoughts and burrow yourself into a deep hole inside, a core of safety where you can defend what is important and precious and your very own. Then the cold and the storms and the darkness can do their worst. They can grope their way up the walls looking for a way in, but they won't find one, everything is shut, and you sit inside, laughing in your warmth and your solitude, for you have had foresight.

There are times when a man should sleep entwined in the warm flesh of a woman, his flanks plummeting into the perfumed bedding while she lovingly rolls her sweet shoulders into his chest. Whereas, there are times to be stoic and solitary—sleeping alone on a wooden board with twill sheets and splinters that scratch the skin.

There are five seasons : spring, summer, autumn, winter . . . and hard times. ~ Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu

there are those who are cursed to live in times when death seems to come out of season, when the winter of a man's life may leap upon him in the midst of summer greenness.

There is a season for everything under the sun—even when we can’t see the sun.

There was an ocean above us, held in by a thin sac that might rupture and let down a flood at any second.

There's a time for exposure; until then keep laboring in obscurity.

There is a TIME AND A PLACE to be WORDY---and...There is a TIME AND A PLACE to be BRIEF.

The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn. Longfellow liked the month of September. Shelley flourished in the hot months. Some poets, like Wordsworth, have gone outdoors to work. Others, like Auden, keep to the curtained room. Schiller needed the smell of rotten apples about him to make a poem. Tennyson and Walter de la Mare had to smoke. Auden drinks lots of tea, Spender coffee; Hart Crane drank alcohol. Pope, Byron, and William Morris were creative late at night. And so it goes.

The sacred time exist in days, weeks, months, seasons and years.

THE SEASONS REMIND ME THAT I MUST KEEP CHANGING.

The seasons long for each other, like men and women, in order that they may be cured of their excesses. Spring, if it lingers more than a week beyond its span, starts to hunger for summer to end the days of perpetual promise. Summer in its turn soon begins to sweat for something to quench its heat, and the mellowest of autumns will tire of gentility at last, and ache for a quick sharp frost to kill its fruitfulness. Even winter - the hardest season, the most implacable - dreams, as February creeps on, of the flame that will presently melt it away. Everything tires with time, and starts to seek some opposition, to save it from itself.

The seasons teach us how to do life well, revealing a life-giving rhythm: we flourish through intentional periods of stillness, growth, hard work, and rest.

The seasons bring to life the living lyre

The summer in you calms the winter in me.

The summer colours have been drained from their bodies, and they've grown pale and flabby again.

The summer ended. Day by day, and taking its time, the summer ended. The noises in the street began to change, diminish, voices became fewer, the music sparse. Daily, blocks and blocks of children were spirited away. Grownups retreated from the streets, into the houses. Adolescents moved from the sidewalk to the stoop to the hallway to the stairs, and rooftops were abandoned. Such trees as there were allowed their leaves to fall - they fell unnoticed - seeming to promise, not without bitterness, to endure another year. At night, from a distance, the parks and playgrounds seemed inhabited by fireflies, and the night came sooner, inched in closer, fell with a greater weight. The sound of the alarm clock conquered the sound of the tambourine, the houses put on their winter faces. The houses stared down a bitter landscape, seeming, not without bitterness, to have resolved to endure another year.

The sun, moon, weather, climate and all seasons speak its appearance, to let us feel and realize; it's a way to introduce oneself.

The tide was coming in at Cosmo Bay and the sky bubbled with a vivid orange before smoothing out to a fading lilac over the calm sea. The late-surfers were heading back to shore, laughing and shivering slightly at the chilly breeze. A few stragglers walked, hunch-shouldered, along the rocky beach with a dog or two, or simply alone. They looked to be personal victims of the sky-god's wrath. Imprisoned by the aquatic borders oppressing them and containing them. Limiting their freedoms and joys the same way the ocean limits the sky itself. In a small coastal town like Caprice, the times only grew more depressing during the late autumn months. The locals died and shrivelled with the leaves and trees as their plastic smiles faded with the last few holidaymakers.

The winter will be short, the summer long, The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, Tasting of cider and of scuppernong.

They know no urge of seasons; they feel no kiss of sun, no lash of wind and weather. They live forever by not living at all.

They lied for new season after 5 for Breaking bad, they stopped the incrediable series "Lie to me", after season 3 there isn't other. It's horrible isn't it?

This is the vowel of earth dreaming its root in flowers and snow, mutation of weathers and seasons, a windfall composing the floor it rots into. I grew out of all this like a weeping willow inclined to the appetites of gravity.

Time is not just the hands of a clock. It isn't just a change of seasons either. It is a treasure trove of precious moments, infinite little joys and blessings, precious smiles, tears and heartbeats.

To attain the wisdom of every season, you must live all the seasons!

To nature lovers, the season of new beginnings is the spring, but to people who excel in school, it's the fall.

To see the light of the world is to be the baobab trees, to watch our own leaves seasoned in quarters of a million years only to become gold to the unknown soil, a threat to the sky

We have to get through the summer.' Finn didn't want to get through the summer. He wanted to fall into it, hunker down and stay for a while.

What an abundant harvest has been collected in autumn! The earth has now fulfilled its design for this year, and is going to repose for a short time. Thus nature is continually employed during the greatest part of the year: even in her rest she is active: and in silence prepares a new creation.

With the change of the seasons, God reminds us that darkness always ends. Light always exists and will always return when missing. There is no night that doesn’t end. No nightmare from which you cannot awaken. No hurt that cannot heal.

You cannot replay time.

Advent is the season that can remind us God is working while we're waiting and we're really waiting with God.

A geisha has studied a man's moods and his seasons. She fusses and he blooms.

As an Asian American at pilot season you take whatever there is.

Before the start of the 2000 season, 'C.S.I.' wasn't supposed to be the hit. We all thought it would be 'The Fugitive.

Canadians complain too much. 'I like seasons.' So do I; that's why I live in a place that skips the [unpleasant] ones.

Childhood is a short season.

Christmas comes during a season when the Earth is in its darkest time. It's a holiday for the family and for everyone.

Congress is back in season.

Every first episode of a season has been crafted like another pilot.

The sun was brightly mild. There was the crisp sound of maple leaves just ripe enough to fall, and leather oak leaves that would cling until a wind took them, and the smell from the fields of all the life that had burned through all those crops until it spent itself down like a fire. It was almost the smell of smoke.

The warming springtime of human hope does not give in to the wintry smiles of the cynic and the realist; it blossoms and it perishes in the sad autumnal winds. And then it is born again - for ever and ever.

The winter was blasting its cold winds of dire portent into the tender face of springtime.

They're sitting on the floor in A Stitch in Time, surrounded on all sides by dresses of every imaginable color. Cora realizes as she glances around, her gaze flitting quickly from one wall to the next, that Etta has arranged them like the seasons: sparkling whites, grays, blacks for winter; shimmering greens and blues for spring; pinks and purples for summer; reds, oranges and yellows for autumn. Together they are breathtaking, almost too bright if stared at for too long, like falling through a rainbow lit by the sun.

Things have their time, even eminence bows to timeliness.

Though his health and family had been broken in the process, he'd found his purpose in life — to share the ancient key discovered anew in the garden: if we feed the earth, it will feed us. I see that is the secret, too, to living. Though the earth demands its sacrifices, spring will always return