#spring

All cruelty springs from weakness. ↗

— Lucius Annaeus Seneca

#springs #weakness

O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind? ↗

— Percy Bysshe Shelley

#comes #far #spring #wind #winter

So far this spring, 59 American communities have been flattened by tornadoes. Nobody has helped. ↗

— Gordon Sinclair

#been #communities #far #flattened #helped

I played a heap of snow in a school play. I was under a sheet, and crawled out when spring came. I often say I'll never reach the same artistic level again. ↗

— Stellan Skarsgard

#artistic #came #crawled #heap #i

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

It’s time for a spring cleaning of your thoughts, it’s time to stop to just existing it’s time to start living. ↗

— Steve Maraboli

#living #spring-cleaning #thoughts #experience

All the while she wondered if any strange good thing might come of her being in her ancestral land; and some spirit within her rose automatically as the sap in the twigs. It was unexpected youth, surging up anew after its temporary check, and bringing with it hope, and the invincible instinct towards self-delight. ↗

— Thomas Hardy

#spring #youth #home

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

Friendships fail some years, blight twists the leaves and the crop is bitter. Frost bites or sudden fire devours: but the root lies sound and waits for better weather or a storm of sleet to scour the branches. Then we shall see another spring: a flare of green flame and flowers burning to fruit along the boughs. ↗

— Charlotte Gray

#friendship

Bruce is still my friend. We don't talk much. We don't have to. He is great and in his own league. I'm not him and he is not me. But we are on similar paths, writing and singing out own kind of songs around the world, along with Bob and a few other singer/songwriters. It is a a silent fraternity of sorts, occupying this space in people's souls with our music. Last year, I lost my right-hand man, the pedal steel guitarist Ben Keith. This year Bruce lost his right-hand man, the saxophonist Clarence Clemons. It's time for another talk; friends can help each other just by being there. Now both of us will look to our right and see a giant hole, a memory, the past and the future. I won't play with another steel player trying to recreate Ben's parts, and I know Bruce won't play with another sax man trying to play Clarence's. Those parts are not going to happen again. They already did. That takes a lot out of our repertoires. ↗

— Neil Young

#clarence-clemons #friends-of-neil-young #friendship #springsteen #dreams