Winter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with his friendly handshaking
Now is the winter of our discontent
Those who don't pick roses in summer won't pick them in winter either
It was cold out there, bitter, biting, cutting, piercing, hyperborean, marmoreal cold, and there were all these Minnesotans running around outdoors, happy as lambs in the spring.
But like of each thing that in season grows.
I think that we may safely trust a good deal more than we do. We may waive just so much care of ourselves as we honestly bestow elsewhere.
It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.
Spring beckons! All things to the call respond; the trees are leaving and cashiers abscond.
Every season has its peaks and valleys. What you have to try to do is eliminate the Grand Canyon.
Good-night to the Season! - Another Will come, with its trifles and toys, And hurry away, like its brother, In sunshine, and odor, and noise
In those vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth
Summer's warmth is in them still.
The day the Lord created hope was probably the same day he created Spring.
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Although all days are equally long regardless of the season, some days are long not only seasonally but by rewards they offer.