#spring

Kalau aku mengatakannya, reaksi apa yang akan kau berikan? Apakah kau akan menerima pengakuanku? Apakah kau akan percaya padaku? Apakah kau masih akan menatapku seperti ini? Atau apakah justru kau akan menjauh dariku? Meninggalkanku? Tapi aku tahu aku harus mengatakannya padamu. Aku tidak mungkin menyimpannya selamanya. Entah bagimana reaksimu nanti setelah mendengarnya, aku hanya berharap satu hal padamu. Jangan pergi dariku. Tetaplah disisiku ↗

— Ilana Tan

#ilana-tan #naomi-ishida #spring-in-london #london

Fuckin' A... hope didn't so much spring eternal as it drowned out common sense and self-preservation. ↗

— J.R. Ward

#spring

The first week of August hangs at the very top of 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. ↗

— Natalie Babbitt

#summer #spring

It was a spring day, the sort that gives people hope: all soft winds and delicate smells of warm earth. Suicide weather. ↗

— Susanna Kaysen

#spring

At the last minute, she bobbed left so that he stabbed the wall she'd hit, trapping the blade in the Sheetrock. As he went to try to get the thing free, she whirled around and nailed him in the gut with her backup blade, springing a hole in his lower intestines. Meeting his shocked stare, she said, "What, like you didn't think I'd have a second knife? Fucking idiot. ↗

— J.R. Ward

#spring

The lesson we are indebted to Egypt for, our future generations learned that in the face of oppression silence is never golden. ↗

— Aysha Taryam

#democracy #dictators #dictatorship #egypt #philosophy

I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older. ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#old #spring #autumn

Every spring I hear the thrush singing in the glowing woods he is only passing through. His voice is deep, then he lifts it until it seems to fall from the sky. I am thrilled. I am grateful. Then, by the end of morning, he's gone, nothing but silence out of the tree where he rested for a night. And this I find acceptable. Not enough is a poor life. But too much is, well, too much. Imagine Verdi or Mahler every day, all day. It would exhaust anyone. ↗

— Mary Oliver

#birdsong #music #nature #serenity #spring

Every year, back comes Spring, with nasty little birds yapping their fool heads off and the ground all mucked up with plants. ↗

— Dorothy Parker

#humor

How mighty you are as death comes upon you and your color fades. Yet from life and lush to bold array, screaming into the night. ↗

— Kellie Elmore

#dying #fall #inspirational #life #philosophy