Refreshing Words: Book Quotes About Spring

Springtime is here again, filling the days with blossoms and hopes, plans and hard work, sunshine and refreshing winds, young leaves, bright flowers, unwinding feelings, and new horizons. Let’s catch the mood of spring wrapped in the art of words. In this post, I’ve collected for you a bunch of inspiring book quotes about spring….

Refreshing Words: Book Quotes About Spring

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You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.
(Pablo Neruda)

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It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.
(Rainer Maria Rilke)

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In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.
(Margaret Atwood)

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“Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like?”…
“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…”
(Frances Hodgson Burnett)

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If people did not love one another, I really don’t see what use there would be in having any spring.
(Victor Hugo)

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That is one good thing about this world…there are always sure to be more springs.
(Lucy Maud Montgomery)

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Don’t you know what that is? It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want—oh, you don’t quite know what it is you DO want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!
(Mark Twain)

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It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace he knows not what.
(John Galsworthy)

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When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.
(Ernest Hemingway)

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Spring drew on…and a greenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left each morning brighter traces of her steps.
(Charlotte Brontë)

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The delicious soft, spring-suggesting air,—how it fills my veins with life! Life becomes again credible to me. A certain dormant life awakes in me, and I begin to love nature again.
(Henry David Thoreau)

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Spring shows what God can do with a drab and dirty world.
(Virgil A. Kraft)

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I glanced out the window at the signs of spring. The sky was almost blue, the trees were almost budding, the sun was almost bright.
(Millard Kaufman)

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Rising through the winter fog, spring is already here. And if I could have one wish come true, I’d wish that I could live inside the heart of spring and fill the world with the flowers of love and peace.
(Bhuwan Thapaliya)

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With so many trees in the city, you could see the spring coming each day until a night of warm wind would bring it suddenly in one morning. Sometimes the heavy cold rains would beat it back so that it would seem that it would never come and that you were losing a season out of your life. This was the only truly sad time in Paris because it was unnatural. You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason.

In those days, though, the spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed.
(Ernest Hemingway)

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Woods were ringed with a colour so soft, so subtle that it could scarcely be said to be a colour at all. It was more the idea of a colour – as if the trees were dreaming green dreams or thinking green thoughts.
(Susanna Clarke)

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The blossoms seem unusually lovely this year. There were none of the scarlet-and-white-striped curtains that are set up among the blossoming trees so invariably that one has to come to think of them as the attire of cherry blossoms; there were no bustling tea-stalls, no holiday crowds of flower-viewers, no one hawking balloons and toy windmills; instead there were only the cherry trees blossoming undisturbed among the evergreens, making one feel as though he were seeing the naked bodies of the blossoms. Nature’s free bounty and useless extravagance had never appeared so fantastically beautiful as it did this spring. I had an uncomfortable suspicion that Nature had come to reconquer the earth for herself.
(Yukio Mishima)

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At last came the golden month of the wild folk– honey-sweet May, when the birds come back, and the flowers come out, and the air is full of the sunrise scents and songs of the dawning year.
(Samuel Scoville Jr)

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The almond blossom from the tree has gone, to be replaced by new green shoots. It smells of spring, and mown grass, and tilled earth from the fields beyond. Now is the month of Germinal in the Republican calendar: the month of hyacinth, and bees, and violet, and primrose. It is also the windy month; the month of new beginnings, and I have never felt it so strongly as I feel it now: that sense of possibility; that irresistible lightness.
(Joanne Harris)

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It is a very beautiful day. The woman looks around and thinks: ‘there cannot ever have been a spring more beautiful than this. I did not know until now that clouds could be like this. I did not know that the sky is the sea and that clouds are the souls of happy ships, sunk long ago. I did not know that the wind could be tender, like hands as they caress – what did I know – until now?
(Unica Zürn)

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A spring night is a power that sweeps through the crowded sheaves of blooming tulips and pours into your heart like a river.
(Anthony Doerr)

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Yellow is the true color of spring, not green; the new grass, the clouds, the misty, sunny air, the sticky buds like little feathers on the trees, all are mixed with yellow tone, with the haze of sun and earth and water. Green is for summer; blue, for fall.
(Robert Nathan)

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Every season
is wonderful
if we have
a spring
of love
within us.
(Bhuwan Thapaliya)

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Come with me into the woods where spring is
advancing, as it does, no matter what,
not being singular or particular, but one
of the forever gifts, and certainly visible.
(Mary Oliver)

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And the Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast
Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
(Percy Bysshe Shelley)

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When the groundhog casts his shadow
And the small birds sing
And the pussywillows happen
And the sun shines warm
And when the peepers peep
Then it is Spring
(Margaret Wise Brown)

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April hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
(William Shakespeare)

In Our Woods, Sometimes a Rare Music

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)