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Spring is about to spring. Persephone is coming back and the ice is groaning, about to break with the exquisite deafening roar. It's a time for madness; a time for our fangs to come down and our eyes to glaze over so that the beast in us can sing w

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Spring is about to spring. Persephone is coming back and the ice is groaning, about to break with the exquisite deafening roar. It’s a time for madness; a time for our fangs to come down and our eyes to glaze over so that the beast in us can sing with unmitigated joy. Oh yes, ecstasy, I welcome thee.

  —David Assael

Spring is nature’s way of saying, “Let’s party!”

 —Robin Williams

The highlight of my career? In ’67 with St Louis, I walked with the bases loaded to drive in the winning run in an intersquad came in spring training.

—Bob Uecker

All through the long winter, I dream of my garden. On the first day of spring, I dig my fingers deep into the soft earth. I can feel its energy and my spirits soar.

—Helen Hayes

In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.

 —Margaret Atwood

Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.

 —Doug Larson

in Just— / spring when the world is mud — / luscious the little / lame balloonman / whistle far and wee.

 —e.e. cummings

If spring came but once a century instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all hearts to behold the miraculous change.

 —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Every spring is the only spring, a perpetual astonishment.

 —Ellis Peters

To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.

 —George Santayana

In the spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours.

 —Mark Twain

Spring has returned. The earth is like a child that knows poems.

 —Rainer Maria Rilke

The sun was warm but the wind was chill. / You know how it is with an April day/ When the sun is out and the wind is still, / You’re one month on in the middle of May. / But if you so much as dare to speak, / A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, / A wind comes off a frozen peak, / And you’re two months back in the middle of March.

— Robert Frost

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