Spring And Easter Quotes

Then, if we really want our celestial neighbors to know how far we have progressed intelectually, we should have included pictures of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy ~ Carl Sagan

He was still immersed in the dim, wet wonder of the folded wings that might open if someone loved him; he still hoped, probably, in a butterfly's unthinking way, for spring and warmth. How the wings ache, folded so, waiting; that is, they ache until they atrophy. ~ Harold Brodkey

Boxes are being opened and vans idle with loads of fish and crab, early spring berries, bunches of sweet lemony sorrel, chocolates, cheeses, oils and vinegars in thin green bottles, flowers with sweet-smelling heads the colors of confectionary. ~ Hannah Tunnicliffe

But there's never been anyone? Really?"

Sarah shrugs. "Penny and I were tutored at home when we were young . . . but in year ten, there was this one boy."

I rub my hands together. "Here we go - tell me everything. I want all the sick, lurid details. Was he a footballer? Big and strong, captain of the team, the most popular boy in school?"

I could see it. Sarah's delicate, long and lithe, but dainty, beautiful - any young man would've been desperate to have her on his arm. In his lap. In his bed, on the hood of his car, riding his face . . . all of the above.

"He was captain of the chess team."

I cover my eyes with my hand.

"His name was Davey. He wore these adorable tweed jackets and bow ties, he had blond hair, and was a bit pale because of the asthma. He had the same glasses as I and he had a different pair of argyle socks for every day of the year."

"You're messing with me, right?"

She shakes her head.

"Argyle socks, Sarah? I am so disappointed in you right now."

"He was nice," she chides. "You leave my Davey alone."

Then she laughs again - delighted and free. My cock reacts hard and fast, emphasis on hard. It's like sodding granite.

"So what happened to old Davey boy?"

"I was alone in the library one day and he came up and started to ask me to the spring social. And I was so excited and nervous I could barely breathe."

I ~ Emma Chase

To us who remain behind is left this day of memories. Every year
in the full tide of spring, at the height of the symphony of flowers and love and life
there comes a pause, and through the silence we hear the lonely pipe of death. ~ Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

It appears that some part of Slothrop ran into the AWOL Džabajev one night in the heart of downtown Niederschaumdorf. (Some believe that fragments of Slothrop have grown into consistent personae of their own. If so, there's no telling which of the Zone's present-day population are offshoots of his original scattering. There's supposed to be a last photograph of him on the only record album ever put out by The Fool, an English rock group - seven musicians posed, in the arrogant style of the early Stones, near an old rocket-bomb site, out in the East End, or South of the River. It is spring, and French thyme blossoms in amazing white lacework across the cape of green that now hides and softens the true shape of the old rubble. There is no way to tell which of the faces is Slothrop's: the only printed credit that might apply to him is "Harmonica, kazoo - a friend." But knowing his Tarot, we would expect to look among the Humility, among the gray and preterite souls, to look for him adrift in the hostile light of the sky, the darkness of the sea. . . .) ~ Thomas Pynchon

Passion is the great mover and spring of the soul. When men's passions are strongest, they may have great and noble effects; but they are then also apt to fall into the greatest miscarriages. ~ Thomas Sprat

Can I step away from this digital maw? Will my voice still matter if no one can hear it? Ca silence feel more pressing and important than a ping? Instead of imagining the next text, the next tweet, the next Instagram post, the next flash of what my cousin did over spring break or what my neighbour ate for breakfast, what if I could imagine living in this moment, without wanting more? The questions whether or not your stuff sparks joy. The question is: Can you spark joy all by yourself? Do you remember how that feels? ~ Heather Havrilesky

A vast field opened like a blossoming tulip, flowers blooming in the rippling airs of spring. High and frothy trees hugged air and sun as they gallantly cast a shade over the earth. On the horizon a florid vessel of mountains trailed to the never-ending, blue as memories distant, poised as statues embroidered into time's eternal drift. ~ P.A. Wunderlich

I am a socialist, a nihilist, a republican, anything that is anti-reactionary!... I want to turn everything upside down to see what lies beneath; I believe we are so webbed, so horribly regimented, that no spring-cleaning is possible, everything must be burned, blown to bits, and then we can start afresh... ~ August Strindberg

Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. HAMLET. What, the fair Ophelia! QUEEN GERTRUDE. Sweets to the sweet: farewell! ~ William Shakespeare

Nothing is wasted in the sea; every particle of material is used over and over again, first by one creature, then by another. And when in spring the waters are deeply stirred, the warm bottom water brings to the surface a rich supply of minerals, ready for use by new forms of life. ~ Rachel Carson

When I was on Broadway, my most recent Broadway show was 'Spring Awakening,' and every night I did a topless scene. ~ Lea Michele

Will looked back at me, startled, and I kept my heart muscle strong, feeling something inside me shiver like a pale green flower shoot just waking up for spring. But whatever that thing was, it was still too new to feel ready to bloom; it wanted time to set down roots. Someday soon I was going to bloom like crazy and then I'd have what I needed to keep me standing tall. ~ Ingrid Law

All people of broad, strong sense have an instinctive repugnance to the men of maxims; because such people early discern that the mysterious complexity of our life is not to be embraced by maxims, and that to lace ourselves up in formulas of that sort is to repress all the divine promptings and inspirations that spring from growing insight and sympathy. And the man of maxims is the popular representative of the minds that are guided in their moral judgment solely by general rules, thinking that these will lead them to justice by a ready-made patent method, without the trouble of exerting patience, discrimination, impartiality, without any care to assure themselves whether they have the insight that comes from a hardly-earned estimate of temptation, or from a life vivid and intense enough to have created a wide fellow-feeling with all that is human. ~ George Eliot

A ward, and still in bonds, one day
I stole abroad;
It was high spring, and all the way
Primrosed and hung with shade;
Yet was it frost within,
And surly winds
Blasted my infant buds, and sin
Like clouds eclipsed my mind. ~ Henry Vaughan

We're not in Khlong Prem Prison yet. So let's assume we're winning.
But inwardly, Anderson wonders. There are too many variables in play, and it makes him nervous. He remembers a time in Missouri when the Grahamites rioted. There had been tension, some small speeches, and then it had simply erupted in field burning. No one had seen the violence coming. Not a single intelligence officer had anticipated the cauldron boiling beneath the surface.
Anderson had ended up perched atop a grain silo, choking on the smoke of HiGro fields going up in sheets of flame, firing steadily at rioters on the ground with a spring rifle he'd salvaged from a slow-moving security guard, and all the while he had wondered how everyone had missed the signs. They lost the facility because of that blindness. And now it is the same. A sudden eruption, and the surprise of realizing that the world he understands is not the one he actually inhabits. ~ Paolo Bacigalupi

Raven has lost deeply, again and again, and she, too, has buried herself. There are pieces of her scattered all over. Her heart is nestled next to a small set of bones buried beside a frozen river, which will emerge with the spring thaw, a skeleton ship rising out of the water. ~ Lauren Oliver

Albion Park on a fierce spring morning. A mad March day of ice and fire. Thomas's feet beat a tattoo on the path. Every hair, every bristle on his chin stands on end. He is a small star-ship of blazing neurons- He is a librarian on his way to work, half-blind with sun and cold and memory. ~ Maggie Gee

We would not be able to encounter the beauty of a sunset or the beauty and perfume emanated by nature on a spring day, if we did not already have this beauty within us. When the beauty within us is revealed, we will also be able to see beauty in a flower, a leaf of grass or a grain of sand, or even in a clod of mud. ~ Ilie Cioara

Have I ever been in love? "Not like I'm going to be. I mean, I'm really open to it. Really hoping ... "
A spring breeze stirred the leaves in the wax myrtle hedge behind him, cooling the flush that had broken out on his skin.
"Hoping for what, exactly?" Jamie asked.
Trent raced to gather his thoughts during a long silence.
"For someone who captivates me with every little thing about her. Someone who makes me want to be better than I am - perfect for her. For a love that will spark hot and keep burning, the embers always ready to flare. ~ Tracy March

And all the woods are alive with the murmur and sound of Spring,
And the rose-bud breaks into pink on the climbing briar,
And the crocus-bed is a quivering moon of fire
Girdled round with the belt of an amethyst ring. ~ Oscar Wilde

Let's get the heck out of here then. These dark empty places give me the creeps. I feel like zombies are going to spring out at any time," I said, picking up my dropped items.
"If there are zombies then we have much bigger problems," he joked.
-Cora and Noah ~ Andrea Heltsley

Hail Ostara, white-clad maiden. Snow and ice melt at your gaze, flowers bloom with each soft step. We who late have longed for spring-time, we welcome you at winter's end. I praise you now, O bright Ostara: Earth's cold cover send from here! ~ Hester Butler-Ehle

O, Winter! Put away thy snowy pride;
O, Spring! Neglect the cowslip and the bell;
O, Summer! Throw thy pears and plums aside;
O, Autumn! Bid the grape with poison swell. ~ Thomas Chatterton

You make me feel…like a dying man in the desert. And you're the fresh spring, the oasis. The water for my parched fucking soul." He shuddered, a movement that spread through his whole body. "But I'm terrified," he whispered, "absolutely fucking terrified…that you're just a mirage. ~ Nicole French

The day before yesterday, in the woods of Touques, in a charming spot beside a spring, I found old cigar butts and scraps of pâté. People had been picnicking. I described such a scene in Novembre eleven years ago; it was entirely imagined, and the other day it came true. Everything one invents is true, you may be sure. Poetry is as precise as geometry. Induction is as accurate as deduction; and besides, after reaching a certain point one no longer makes any mistake about the things of the soul. ~ Gustave Flaubert

Should we only be interested to view the cherry blossoms at their peak, or the moon when it is full? To yearn for the moon when it is raining, or to be closed up in ones room, failing to notice the passing of Spring, is far more moving. Treetops just before they break into blossom, or gardens strewn with fallen flowers are just as worthy of notice. There is much to see in them. Is it any less wonderful to say, in the preface to a poem, that it was written on viewing the cherry blossoms just after they had peaked, or that something had prevented one from seeing them altogether, than to say "on seeing the cherry blossoms"? Of course not. Flowers fall and the moon sets, these are the cyclic things of the world, but still there are brutish people who say that there is nothing left worth seeing, and fail to appreciate. ~ Yoshida Kenko

Even the birds above the lake
Are singing of my love,
And even the flowers along the shore
Are growing for her sake.

All the vines are ripening
And the trees come into bud,
For my love's footsteps passing by
Are summoning the spring.

Rian's stars in the night
Shine more brightly over her,
The god's moon and the goddess's
Guard her with their light.

Even the birds above the lake
Are singing of my love,
And even the flowers along the shore
Are growing for her sake ~ Guy Gavriel Kay

Friendships fail some years,
blight twists the leaves and the crop is bitter.
Frost bites or sudden fire devours:
but the root lies sound and waits for better weather or a storm of sleet to scour the branches.
Then we shall see another spring:
a flare of green flame and flowers burning to fruit along the boughs. ~ Charlotte Gray

Spring is beautiful, and smells sweet. Spring is when you shake the curtains, and pound on the rugs, and take off your long underwear, and wash in all the corners. ~ Virginia Cary Hudson

Spring drew on ... and a greenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left each morning brighter traces of her steps. ~ Charlotte Bronte