All Quotes By Tag: Seasons

“I was transformed the dayMy ego shattered,And all the superficial, materialThings that matteredTo me before,Suddenly ceasedTo matter.”

“In every time of season change: it is #wise to slow down and examine what our ego, thought-habits, and spiritual-energy are communicating to others…our environments. Truth is these thoughts (attitudes that aren’t situationally static) are producing real activity, outcomes that shape our existence. Consider the conception of our thoughts, and what they will give birth to beyond the physical…they have an incredible power, with or without our active will, to lift us, sink us or soar us. Consider how we as human beings can be subject to the law enforcement of living under our own thought legislation…Selah.”

“The beauty in our beliefs causes us to let our grassy goals and dreams take root, for sorrow gives seed to success, success blossoms into significance, and significance transcends the seasons that come and go with the whims of the world.”

“Sun benches at the curb bespeakanother season, truncated poplarsthat having served for shadeserved also later for the fire.”

“Time is not just the hands of a clock. It isn’t just a change of seasons either. It is a treasure trove of precious moments, infinite little joys and blessings, precious smiles, tears and heartbeats.”

“Outside the leaves on the trees constricted slightly; they were the deep done green of the beginning of autumn. It was a Sunday in September. There would only be four. The clouds were high and the swallows would be here for another month or so before they left for the south before they returned again next summer.”

“No, not of course at all—it is really all hocus-pocus. The days lengthen in the winter-time, and when the longest comes, the twenty-first of June, the beginning of summer, they begin to go downhill again, toward winter. You call that ‘of course’; but if one once loses hold of the fact that it is of course, it is quite frightening, you feel like hanging on to something. It seems like a practical joke—that spring begins at the beginning of winter, and autumn at the beginning of summer. You feel you’re being fooled, led about in a circle, with your eye fixed on something that turns out to be a moving point. A moving point in a circle. For the circle consists of nothing but such transitional points without any extent whatever; the curvature is incommensurable, there is no duration of motion, and eternity turns out to be not ‘straight ahead’ but ‘merry-go-round’!”

“Following dark winter’s strife, a warm air rises, teemed with life. Birth, rebirth, as the waiting die. Old love, new love sprouts wings to fly.”

“WINTER’S GHOST:Autumn moonincautious in the dark riverWinter’s ghost walkswith a covered faceand silver bones wait in all animalsto be bone cloth upon her shoulderwait for her happiness in that they are silver”

“If Springtime crawls out of thewild mouths of flowers, thensurely, Winter crawls out of mine.”

“Experience everything;Times of sorrow, times of Joy.Times of darkness, times of light.Times of lost heart, times of hope.Times of hate, times of love.Times of pain , times of peace.Times of distress, times of dancing.Times of sickness, times of recover of strength.Times of lost, times of finding the way.Times of wandering, times of wonder.Times of failure, times of success.Times of fall, times of rise.Time of sowing, times of harvesting.Times of injury , times of healing.Times of waiting, times of fulfilled wish.Times of praying, times of receiving the promise.Times of ploughing, times of planting.Times of dreaming, times of working to achieve the dream.Times of doubt, times of Faith.”

“There was a filmy veil of soft dull mist obscuring, but not hiding, all objects, giving them a lilac hue, for the sun had not yet fully set; a robin was singing … The leaves were more gorgeous than ever; the first touch of frost would lay them all low to the ground. Already one or two kept constantly floating down, amber and golden in the low slanting sun-rays.”

“If people were seasons, she’d be monsoon. After every downpour, the garden laughed like her, wild and free.”

“TO what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus. The smell of the earth is good. It is apparent that there is no death. But what does that signify? Not only under ground are the brains of men Eaten by maggots. Life in itself Is nothing, An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, April Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.”

“Winter is much like unrequited love; cold and merciless.”