Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's read more

Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.

Autumn is a second spring where every leaf is a flower

Autumn is a second spring where every leaf is a flower

January grey is here,
Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,
read more

January grey is here,
Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,
March with grief doth howl and rave,
And April weeps--but, O ye hours!
Follow with May's fairest flowers.

In a way winter is the real spring, the time when the inner things happen, the resurge of nature.

In a way winter is the real spring, the time when the inner things happen, the resurge of nature.

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, read more

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.

A woodland in full color is awesome as a forest fire; but a single tree is like a dancing tongue read more

A woodland in full color is awesome as a forest fire; but a single tree is like a dancing tongue of flame to warm the heart.

Change is a measure of time and, in the autumn, time seems speeded up. What was is not and never read more

Change is a measure of time and, in the autumn, time seems speeded up. What was is not and never again will be; what is is change.

Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.

Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.

Autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.

Autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.