Philip Gilbert Hamerton Quotes

Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.

Spring. March fans it, April christens it, and May puts on its jacket and trousers.

The air's warm with hopeful hints of spring in it. Spring would be a good time for an uprising, I think. Everyone feels less vulnerable once winter passes.

Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight, At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more, When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death, And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.

No Winter lasts forever, no Spring skips its turn. April is a promise that May is bound to keep, and we know it.

April is a fun month.

This is a beautiful time of year with spring beginning to burst forth in many parts of the world, bringing all of its colors, scents, and cheerful sounds. The miracle of the changing seasons, with the reawakening and rebirth in nature, inspires feelings of love and reverence within us for God's marvelous, creative handiwork.

Winter isn't forever. Winter is always followed by spring. And it's how to take advantage of whatever season you're in.

And then, despite everything, I smiled and looked at the note and knew that spring would come —it always does. so I stared out that cold window, watching my breath collect on the glass, trying not to think about my life after the thaw.

Our destiny often looks like a fruit-tree in winter. Who would think from its pitiable aspect that those rigid boughs, those rough twigs could next spring again be green, bloom, and even bear fruit? Yet we hope it, we know it.

The streams, rejoiced that winter's work is done, Talk of to-morrow's cowslips as they run.

To see a hillside white with dogwood bloom is to know a particular ecstasy of beauty, but to walk the gray Winter woods and find the buds which will resurrect that beauty in another May is to partake of continuity.

In just - Spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame balloonman whistles far and wee

But only a person in the depths of despair neglected to look beyond winter to the spring that inevitably followed, bringing back color and life and hope.

And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the last lights off the black West went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs— Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

They were pleasant spring days, in which the winter of man's discontent was thawing as well as the earth, and the life that had lain torpid began to stretch itself.

When we feel weak, all we have to do is wait a little while. The spring returns and the winter snows melt and fill us with new energy.

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king