#spring

The first week of August hangs at the very top of the summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. There is no thunder, no relieving rain. These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after. ↗

— Natalie Babbitt

#regret #summer #spring

Did I live the spring I’d sought? It’s true in joy, I walked along, took part in dance, and sang the song. and never tried to bind an hour to my borrowed garden bower; nor did I once entreat a day to slumber at my feet. Yet days aren’t lulled by lyric song, like morning birds they pass along, o’er crests of trees, to none belong; o’er crests of trees of drying dew, their larking flight, my hands, eschew Thus I’ll say it once and true… From all that I saw, and everywhere I wandered, I learned that time cannot be spent, It only can be squandered. ↗

— Roman Payne

#living #payne #poesie #poetry #rhymes

One swallow does not make a summer, but one skein of geese, cleaving the murk of March thaw, is the Spring. ↗

— Aldo Leopold

#geese #make #march #spring #summer

At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer, if it ever reach us, it must spring up amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide. ↗

— Abraham Lincoln

#amongst #answer #approach #author #cannot

Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime. ↗

— Martin Luther

#books #every #leaf #lord #our

They say it's better to bury your sadness in a graveyard or garden that waits for the spring to wake from its sleep and burst into green. ↗

— Conor Oberst

#burst #bury #garden #graveyard #green

Baseball needs to put the steroids era behind it by having and enforcing tough rules against all kinds of artificial advantages, so that spring can return. ↗

— Marvin Olasky

#against #artificial #baseball #behind #enforcing

I hate the cursed Oriole fundamentals... I've been doing them since 1964. I do them in my sleep. I hate spring training. ↗

— Jim Palmer

#cursed #doing #fundamentals #hate #i

Collaboration is much like a birth. The song that springs forth resembles each one of us to a degree, but it's the kind of thing that would never be born from just one of us sitting down with a guitar. ↗

— Grant-Lee Phillips

#born #collaboration #degree #down #each

The imagination is the spur of delights... all depends upon it, it is the mainspring of everything; now, is it not by means of the imagination one knows joy? Is it not of the imagination that the sharpest pleasures arise? ↗

— Marquis de Sade

#delights #depends #everything #imagination #joy