#spring

People try to keep their past, like kind of holding on to their past. Every Springsteen song talks about that. ↗

— John Cusack

#every #holding #holding on #keep #kind

The Internet has exceeded our collective expectations as a revolutionary spring of information, news, and ideas. It is essential that we keep that spring flowing. We must not thwart the Internet's availability by taxing access to it. ↗

— Chris Cannon

#availability #collective #essential #exceeded #expectations

Curiosity endows the people who have it with a generosity in argument and a serenity in their own mode of life which springs from their cheerful willingness to let life take the form it will. ↗

— Alistair Cooke

#cheerful #curiosity #endows #form #generosity

The Olympic Games are the quadrennial celebration of the springtime of humanity. ↗

— Pierre de Coubertin

#games #humanity #olympic #olympic games #springtime

There are some good songs, but not the kind of song-writing that I remember, that I like. Springsteen still does it. Paul Simon, and there are also good writers, but that doesn't dominate the charts. ↗

— Jackie DeShannon

#charts #does #dominate #good #good songs

Rebellion without truth is like spring in a bleak, arid desert. ↗

— Khalil Gibran

#bleak #desert #like #rebellion #spring

A young ballplayer looks on his first spring training trip as a stage struck young woman regards the theater. ↗

— Christy Mathewson

#first #his #looks #regards #spring

All cruelty springs from weakness. ↗

— Lucius Annaeus Seneca

#springs #weakness

The alchemist was dazed and dumbfounded, as the true meaning of the magic was revealed: *The dead will rise from glade to glen and ancient will be young again*. The dead had, after all, risen. From dead and dry things there was growth, and new life everywhere. And the endlessly long winter had at last turned to spring. From life to death and back again to life. It was indeed the greatest magic in the world. ↗

— Lauren Oliver

#spring #death

The fusty showman fumbles, must Fit in a particle of dust The universe, for fear it gain Its freedom from my cube of brain. Yet dust bears seeds that grow to grace Behind my crude-striped wooden face As I, a puppet tinsel-pink Leap on my springs, learn how to think— Till like the trembling golden stalk Of some long-petalled star, I walk Through the dark heavens, and the dew Falls on my eyes and sense thrills through. ↗

— Edith Sitwell

#poem #springing-jack #freedom