To find the universal elements enough; to find the air and the water exhilarating; to be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening saunter... to be thrilled by the stars at night; to be elated over a bird's nest or a wildflower in spring - these are some of the rewards of the simple life.
You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.
Let us love winter, for it is the spring of genius.
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
We cannot stop the winter or the summer from coming. We cannot stop the spring or the fall or make them other than they are. They are gifts from the universe that we cannot refuse. But we can choose what we will contribute to life when each arrives.
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
Today Is International Women's Day; why just a day? it is truly unfortunate that we do not celebrate everyday women... everyday
...beneath torrents of spring rain, buds come to life - and we do too, beneath torments of tears...
Talk about a dream,try to make it real
With the coming of spring, I am calm again.
Despite the forecast, live like it's spring.
In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.
My purpose is to teach and demonstrate what is possible. To demonstrate love of God and good. Remember what my role is as a woman: to be... good. My role as a mother: to teach, support and nurture my offspring. My role as a grandmother: to remind everybody - right where you are, God is.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
In winter, I plot and plan. In spring, I move.
No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
No matter how chaotic it is, wildflowers will still spring up in the middle of nowhere.
Those who labor in the earth are the chosen people of God.
With so many trees in the city, you could see the spring coming each day until a night of warm wind would bring it suddenly in one morning. Sometimes the heavy cold rains would beat it back so that it would seem that it would never come and that you were losing a season out of your life. This was the only truly sad time in Paris because it was unnatural. You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason. In those days, though, the spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed.
I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.
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