Spring Quotes - Page 76

The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours.

..I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

It was a spring day, the sort that gives people hope: all soft winds and delicate smells of warm earth. Suicide weather.

The year is ended, and it only adds to my age; Spring has come, but I must take leave of my home. Alas, that the trees in this eastern garden, Without me, will still bear flowers.

Technique itself springs from play, because we can acquire technique only by the practice of practice, by persistently experimenting and playing with our tools and testing their limits and resistances.

I think our customers don't need anything. They just want something special. This is why we do collections - not just the Spring fashion show, but the pre - Fall and cruise lines too. The customers love to find something in the shop they don't see in a magazine. This is the trick about the cruise and pre-Fall collections. Nobody knows about them. When you go to the shop, you really find something you don't see anywhere else.

All projects are different, but you have to treat each one of them with care. Sometimes you get to build a luxury yacht; other times, it'll be a rowboat. You still have to make sure the thing doesn't spring a leak.

Spring was coming back with the old promise, demanding the old sacrifice.

We do good because it frees the heart. It opens us to a wellspring of happiness.

I could not be so sure of Spring / Save that it sings in me.

What we are accustomed to decry as great social evils, will, for the most part, be found to be only the out-growth of our own perverted life; and though we may endeavor to cut them down and extirpate them by means of law, they will only spring up again with fresh luxuriance in some other form, unless the conditions of human life and character are radically improved.

Of the blessings set before you make your choice, and be content. No man can taste the fruits of autumn while he is delighting his scent with the flowers of the spring: no man can, at the same time, fill his cup from the source and from the mouth of the Nile.

Eternal Spring, with smiling Verdue here Warms the mild Air, and crowns the youthful year . . The Rose still blushes, and the vi'lets blow.

What I most want is to spring out of this personality, then to sit apart from that leaping. I've lived too long where I can be reached.

In Winter the bare boughs that seem to sleep Work covertly, preparing for their Spring.

Spring with its wavin' green grass and heaps of sweet-smellin' flowers on every hill and in every dale.

I wasn't a great communicator, but I communicated great things, and they didn't spring full-bloom from my brow - they came from the heart of a great nation.

At the end of the season of sorrows comes the time of rejoicing. Spring, like a well-oiled clock, noiselessly indicates this time.

They know who keep a broken tryst, Till something from the Spring be missed We have not truly known the Spring.

(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;) And go along with you ere you lose sight Of what you came for and become like me, Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. How love burns through the Putting in the Seed On through the watching for that early birth When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed, The sturdy seedling with arched body comes Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.

Being sorry won't get you into heaven. Get happy, son. Get that old spring into your step and stay on your toes.

The spring rains woke the dormant tillers, and bright green shoots sprang from the moist earth and rose like sleepers stretching after a long nap. As spring gave way to summer, the bright green stalks darkened, became tan, turned golden brown. The days grew long and hot. Thick towers of swirling black clouds brought rain, and the brown stems glistened in the perpetual twilight that dwelled beneath the canopy. The wheat rose and the ripening heads bent in the prairie wind, a rippling curtain, an endless, undulating sea that stretched to the horizon.

Time passes, as the novelist says. The single most useful trick of fiction for our repair and refreshment: the defeat of time. A century of family saga and a ride up an escalator can take the same number of pages. Fiction sets any conversion rate, then changes it in a syllable. The narrator’s mother carries her child up the stairs and the reader follows, for days. But World War I passes in a paragraph. I needed 125 pages to get from Labor Day to Christmas vacation. In six more words, here’s spring.

The East and the West in the spring of the world shall blend / As a man and a woman that plight / Their troth in the warm spring night.

Our prayers must spring from the indigenous soil of our own personal confrontation with the Spirit of God in our lives.