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.
– Anne Bradstreet
People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.
– Rogers Hornsby
In the spring I have counted one hundred and thirty-six different kinds of weather inside of four and twenty hours.
– Mark Twain
To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.
– George Santayana
That God once loved a garden we learn in Holy writ. And seeing gardens in the Spring I well can credit it.
– Winifred Mary Letts
Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.
– Doug Larson
Where man sees but withered leaves,God sees sweet flowers growing.
– Albert Laighton
April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go.
– John Mistletoe
All men’s misfortunes spring from their hatred of being alone.
– Jean Bruyere
Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.
– Victor Hugo
No matter how long the winter, spring is sure to follow.
– Proverb
Autumn is a second spring where every leaf is a flower.
– Albert Camus
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
– Percy Shelley
No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
– Hal Borland
Spring is nature’s way of saying, “Let’s party!”
– Robin Williams
If winter comes, can spring be far behind?
– Percy Bysshe Shelley
The only thing that could spoil a day was people. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.
– Ernest Hemingway
Baseball needs to put the steroids era behind it by having and enforcing tough rules against all kinds of artificial advantages, so that spring can return.
– Marvin Olasky
When the time is ripe for certain things, these things appear in different places in the manner of violets coming to light in the early spring.
– Farkas Bolyai
A Poem does not grow by jerks. As trees in Spring produce a new ring of tissue, so does every poet put forth a fresh outlay of stuff at the same season.
– Wilfred Owen