124 Total Quotes

Spring Quotes

Joe Torre
We'll treat them all like starters when we start spring training.
Joe Torre
#Spring

Mark Twain
In the Spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours.
Mark Twain
#Spring

William Shakespeare
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.
William Shakespeare
#Spring

Gerard Hopkins
Nothing is so beautiful as spring -- when weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring the ear, it strikes like lightning to hear him sing.
Gerard Hopkins
#Spring

T.S. Eliot
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
T.S. Eliot
#Spring

She's got some spring to her.
Tom Reagan
#Spring

It was a different spring for him since he didn't get a lot of throwing in. But he's told me his arm feels super.
Willie Randolph
#Spring

Mike Hargrove
That's about as surprised as I've been this Spring Training.
Mike Hargrove
#Spring

Pat Gillick
He's going through spring training, really.
Pat Gillick
#Spring

For like as herbs and trees bringing forth fruit and flourish in May, in likewise every lusty heart that is in any manner a lover, springeth and flourisheth in lusty deeds.
Sir Malory
#Spring

That's our target for this spring.
Irene Towell
#Spring

Bobby Cox
You can't have a much better spring than he's having.
Bobby Cox
#Spring

Ken Macha
He's having a great spring.
Ken Macha
#Spring

John Betjeman
Hark, I hear the bells of Westgate, I will tell you what they sigh, Where those minarets and steeples Prick the open Thanet sky. Happy bells of eighteen-ninety, Bursting from your freestone tower! Recalling laurel, shrubs and privet, Red geraniums in flower. Feet that scamper on the asphalt Through the Borough Council grass, Till they hide inside the shelter Bright with ironwork and glass, Striving chains of ordered children Purple by the sea-breeze made, Striving on to prunes and suet Past the shops on the Parade. Some with wire around their glasses, Some with wire across their teeth, Writhing frames for running noses And the drooping lip beneath. Church of England bells of Westgate! On this balcony I stand, White the woodwork wriggles round me, Clocktowers rise on either hand. For me in my timber arbour You have one more message yet, "Plimsolls, plimsolls in the summer, Oh galoshes in the wet!"
John Betjeman
#Spring

There is no such delight can bring, as summer, autumn, winter, and the spring.
William Browne
#Spring

I. Moonlight silvers the tops of trees, Moonlight whitens the lilac shadowed wall And through the evening fall, Clearly, as if through enchanted seas, Footsteps passing, an infinite distance away, In another world and another day. Moonlight turns the purple lilacs blue, Moonlight leaves the fountain hoar and old, And the boughs of elms grow green and cold, Our footsteps echo on gleaming stones, The leaves are stirred to a jargon of muted tones. This is the night we have kept, you say: This is the moonlit night that will never die. Through the grey streets our memories retain Let us go back again. II. Mist goes up from the river to dim the stars, The river is black and cold; so let us dance To flare of horns, and clang of cymbals and drums; And strew the glimmering floor with roses, And remember, while the rich music yawns and closes, With a luxury of pain, how silence comes. Yes, we loved each other, long ago; We moved like wind to a music's ebb and flow. At a phrase from violins you closed your eyes, And smiled, and let me lead you how young we were! Your hair, upon that music, seemed to stir. Let us return there, let us return, you and I; Through changeless streets our memories retain Let us go back again. III. Mist goes up from the rain steeped earth, and clings Ghostly with lamplight among drenched maple trees. We walk in silence and see how the lamplight flings Fans of shadow upon it the music's mournful pleas Die out behind us, the door is closed at last, A net of silver silence is softly cast Over our thought slowly we walk, Quietly with delicious pause, we talk, Of foolish trivial things; of life and death, Time, and forgetfulness, and dust and truth; Lilacs and youth. You laugh, I hear the after taken breath, You darken your eyes and turn away your head At something I have said Some intuition that flew too deep, And struck a plageant chord. Tonight, tonight you will remember it as you fall asleep, Your dream will suddenly blossom with sharp delight, Goodnight! You say. The leaves of the lilac dip and sway; The purple spikes of bloom Nod their sweetness upon us, lift again, Your white face turns, I am cought with pain And silence descends, and dripping of dew from eaves, And jeweled points of leaves. IV. I walk in a pleasure of sorrow along the street And try to remember you; slow drops patter; Water upon the lilacs has made them sweet; I brush them with my sleeve, the cool drops scatter; And suddenly I laugh and stand and listen As if another had laughed a gust Rustles the leaves, the wet spikes glisten; And it seems as though it were you who had shaken the bough, And spilled the fragrance I pursue your face again, It grows more vague and lovely, it eludes me now. I remember that you are gone, and drown in pain. Something there was I said to you I recall, Something just as the music seemed to fall That made you laugh, and burns me still with pleasure. What were those words the words like dripping fire? I remember them now, and in sweet leisure Rehearse the scene, more exquisite than before, And you more beautiful, and I more wise. Lilacs and spring, and night, and your clear eyes, And you, in white, by the darkness of a door: These things, like voices weaving to richest music, Flow and fall in the cool night of my mind, I pursue your ghost among green leaves that are ghostly, I pursue you, but cannot find. And suddenly, with a pang that is sweetest of all, I become aware that I cannot remember you; The ghost I knew Has silently plunged in shadows, shadows that stream and fall. V. Let us go in and dance once more On the dream's glimmering floor, Beneath the balcony festooned with roses. Let us go in and dance once more. The door behind us closes Against an evening purple with stars and mist. Let us go in and keep our tryst With music and white roses, and spin around In swirls of sound. Do you forsee me, married and grown old? And you, who smile about you at this room, Is it foretold That you must step from tumult into gloom, Forget me, love another? No, you are Cleopatra, fiercely young, Laughing upon the topmost stair of night; Roses upon the desert must be flung; Above us, light by light, Weaves the delirious darkness, petal fall, And music breaks in waves on the pillared wall; And you are Cleopatra, and do not care. And so, in memory, you will always be Young and foolish, a thing of dream and mist; And so, perhaps when all is disillusioned, And eternal spring returns once more, Bringing a ghost of lovelier springs remembered, You will remember me. VI. Yet when we meet we seem in silence to say, Pretending serene forgetfulness of our youth, "Do you remember but then why should you remember! Do you remember a certain day, Or evening rather, spring evening long ago, We talked of death, and love, and time, and truth, And said such wise things, things that amused us so How foolish we were, who thought ourselves so wise!" And then we laugh, with shadows in our eyes.
Conrad Aiken
#Spring

First day of spring-- I keep thinking about the end of autumn.
Matsuo Basho
#Spring

Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps' nest.
Matsuo Basho
#Spring

Robert Frost
OH, give us pleasure in the flowers today; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year. Oh, give us pleasure in the orcahrd white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night; And make us happy in the happy bees, The swarm dilating round the perfect trees. And make us happy in the darting bird That suddenly above the bees is heard, The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill, And off a blossom in mid air stands still. For this is love and nothing else is love, To which it is reserved for God above To sanctify to what far ends he will, But which it only needs that we fulfill.
Robert Frost
#Spring

Robert Frost
These pools that, though in forests, still reflect The total sky almost without defect, And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver, Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone, And yet not out by any brook or river, But up by roots to bring dark foliage on. The trees that have it in their pent-up buds To darken nature and be summer woods -- Let them think twice before they use their powers To blot out and drink up and sweep away These flowery waters and these watery flowers From snow that melted only yesterday.
Robert Frost
#Spring

William Blake
Sound the Flute! Now it's mute. Birds delight Day and Night Nightingale In the dale Lark in Sky Merrily Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year Little Boy Full of joy, Little Girl Sweet and small, Cock does crow So do you. Merry voice Infant noise Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year Little Lamb Here I am. Come and lick My white neck. Let me pull Your soft Wool. Let me kiss Your soft face Merrily Merrily we welcome in the Year
William Blake
#Spring

William Blake
O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! The hills tell each other, and the listening Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth, And let thy holy feet visit our clime. Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee. O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put Thy golden crown upon her languished head, Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.
William Blake
#Spring

William Shakespeare
From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him, Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odor and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew. Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away, As with your shadow I with these did play.
William Shakespeare
#Spring

William Shakespeare
From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew. Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, As with your shadow I with these did play.
William Shakespeare
#Spring

William Shakespeare
When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo!' O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo!' O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear.
William Shakespeare
#Spring

William Shakespeare
WHEN daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo!--O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear! When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo!--O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear!
William Shakespeare
#Spring

William Shakespeare
WHEN icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-whit! To-who!--a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doe blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-whit! To-who!--a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
William Shakespeare
#Spring

Claude McKay
Too green the springing April grass, Too blue the silver-speckled sky, For me to linger here, alas, While happy winds go laughing by, Wasting the golden hours indoors, Washing windows and scrubbing floors. Too wonderful the April night, Too faintly sweet the first May flowers, The stars too gloriously bright, For me to spend the evening hours, When fields are fresh and streams are leaping, Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.
Claude McKay
#Spring

FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful, Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles, Here I wander in April Cold, grey-headed; and still to my Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer, Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant; Spring, flower-planter in meadows, Child-conductor in willowy Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses: Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity: O child, happy are children! She still smiles on their innocence, She, dear mother in God, fostering violets, Fills earth full of her scents, voices and violins: Thus one cunning in music Wakes old chords in the memory: Thus fair earth in the Spring leads her performances. One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal Green - one more, and my bosom Feels new life with an ecstasy.
Robert Stevenson
#Spring

IN the green and gallant Spring, Love and the lyre I thought to sing, And kisses sweet to give and take By the flowery hawthorn brake. Now is russet Autumn here, Death and the grave and winter drear, And I must ponder here aloof While the rain is on the roof.
Robert Stevenson
#Spring