John Burroughs Quotes

Whither away, Bluebird, Whither away? The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky Thou still canst find the color of thy wing, The hue of May. Warbler, why speed, thy southern flight? ah, why, Thou, too, whose song first told us of the Spring? Whither away?

April is the cruellest month.

I shine in tears like the sun in April.

The sky, the sky beyond the door is blue.

Oh, to be in England now that April's there.

In New York especially, I always want to wear a nice overcoat to get through the winter: you can wear them so many times, and they make every outfit better.

In the spring of 1929, I returned to the United States. I was homesick for this country. I had learned in my student days a great deal about the new physics. I wanted to pursue this myself, to explain it, and to foster its cultivation.

Oh, how this spring of love resembleth, The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all beauty of the Sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away

April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go.

Every April God rewrites the book of Genesis.

This is not the land of my birth, but it is the land for which I hold the greatest affection, and I certainly will come back in the springtime

The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.

April is a fun month.

April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

In our city spring came from the sky, not from the soil, which was ruled by stone that recognizes no seasonal change. The change of the season could be glimpsed in the thinning of clouds, the appearance of the birds and the occasional rainbow.

Welcome as the flowers in May.

I am thankful that in a troubled world no calamity can prevent the return of spring.

Now Spring returns; but not to me returns.

What am I supposed to do with a wool coat? Especially here in Palm Springs?” “Sleep with it,” he suggested. “Think of me.

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

Revolutions spring not from accident, but from necessity. A revolution is a return from the factitious to the real. It takes place because it must.

April is a promise of what's to come.