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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #seasons
What were you thinking when Trevor had that gun to your head?” “That I was going to die.” I said sounding too sarcastic to actually cover up that I was thinking something much different. “Well, I know that…but when you heard him start to pull the trigger your face changed. I watched it as I pulled the trigger on him.” He said his body still tense against mine. “I was thinking why the hell you hadn’t saved me yet.” “Sure you were. That’s not what I saw in your face.” He noted as his body relaxed. I turned to look at him again and our faces were barely an inch apart. “Then you know what I was thinking, so why are you asking? ↗
#in-between-seasons #post-apocalyptic #ya-dystopian #ya-romance #change
A long time have I lived with you And now we must be going Separately to be together. Perhaps I shall be the wind To blur your smooth waters So that you do not see your face too much. Perhaps I shall be the star To guide your uncertain wings So that you have direction in the night. Perhaps I shall be the fire To separate your thoughts So that you do not give up. Perhaps I shall be the rain To open up the earth So that your seed may fall. Perhaps I shall be the snow To let your blossoms sleep So that you may bloom in spring. Perhaps I shall be the stream To play a song on the rock So that you are not alone. Perhaps I shall be a new mountain So that you always have a home. ↗
What we are waiting for is not as important as what happens to us while we are waiting. Trust the process. ↗
#faith #positive-thinking #preparation #seasons-of-waiting #the-process
If you’re still waiting for it, it mean you’re not yet ready for it…whatever “it” is…so stop looking at waiting as a punishment and start looking at it as preparation! ↗
#faith #keeping-the-faith #positive-thinking #preparation #punishment
The stretching of your faith is immediate pain that results in ultimate gain. It is in the waiting that we become who we are meant to be. ↗
#becoming-you-you-re-meant-to-be #bigger-picture #consecration #destiny #faith
~A Comparison of Seasons~ Snow's unforgiving power causes some men to wish for spring's flower. Some might hate snow's bitter chill, but you love it at your own will. I see snow as something fun, but others might still long for summer's sun. You and I hate summer's heat, but we still love the warmth of a fire on our feet. Spring has jays whose virtuous songs are nice, but winter's lonely echoes are earth's frigged vice. I enjoy spring's life, yet I still love winter's seemingly harsh sorrow; sometimes I can't get out of the house, so I worry about tomorrow. I love the sight of snow and I treasure the sight of summer's river which swiftly flows. Also, winter can be cold, but we can look forward to seeing spring's life and joy unfold. ↗
In my own shire, if I was sad Homely comforters I had: The earth, because my heart was sore, Sorrowed for the son she bore; And standing hills, long to remain, Shared their short-lived comrade's pain. And bound for the same bourn as I, On every road I wandered by, Trod beside me, close and dear, The beautiful and death-struck year: Whether in the woodland brown I heard the beechnut rustle down, And saw the purple crocus pale Flower about the autumn dale; Or littering far the fields of May Lady-smocks a-bleaching lay, And like a skylit water stood The bluebells in the azured wood. Yonder, lightening other loads, The season range the country roads, But here in London streets I ken No such helpmates, only men; And these are not in plight to bear, If they would, another's care. They have enough as 'tis: I see In many an eye that measures me The mortal sickness of a mind Too unhappy to be kind. Undone with misery, all they can Is to hate their fellow man; And till they drop they needs must still Look at you and wish you ill. ↗
#city #compassion #country #hate #home
Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn--that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness--that season which has drawn from every poet worthy of being read some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling. ↗
