A Quote by George Gissing

Honest winter, snow clad and with the frosted beard, I can welcome not uncordially; but that long deferment of the calendar's promise, that weeping loom of March and April, that bitter blast outraging the honor of May - how often has it robbed me of heart and hope.
No Winter lasts forever, no Spring skips its turn. April is a promise that May is bound to keep, and we know it.
January brings the snow / Makes your feet and fingers glow / February's ice and sleet / Freeze the toes right off your feet / Welcome March with wintry wind / Would thou wer't not so unkind / April brings the sweet spring showers / On and on for hours and hours.
Many weeks ago, the Holy Spirit told me to watch the dates "March 8 to April 8." He was speaking to me about how beginning with March 8, there was a new season of revival and fruitfulness for the Church. That this would be a new time of fresh visitation.
Long stormy spring-time, wet contentious April, winter chilling the lap of very May; but at length the season of summer does come.
In winter there is no heat, no light, no noon, evening touches morning, there is fog, and mist, the window is frosted, and you cannot see clearly. The sky is but the mouth of a cave. The whole day is the cave.... Frightful season! Winter changes into stone the water of heaven and the heart of man.
2018 is a big year for me with the Commonwealths in April and my university dissertation due in May so a World Championships in March would be difficult.
I give you my promise to be by your side forevermore. I promise to love, to honor, and to listen as you tell me your thoughts, your hopes, your fears and your dreams. I promise to love you deeply and truly because it is your heart that moves me, your head that challenges me, your humor that delights me and your hands I wish to hold until the end of my days.
Just remember, during the winter, far beneath the bitter snow, that there's a seed that with the sun's love in the spring becomes a rose.
When death comes, it's just like winter. We don't say, "There ought not to be winter." That the winter season, when the leaves fall and the snow comes, is some kind of defeat, something which we should hold out against. No. Winter is part of the natural course of events. No winter, no summer. No cold, no heat.
Up rose the wild old winter-king, And shook his beard of snow; "I hear the first young hard-bell ring, 'Tis time for me to go! Northward o'er the icy rocks, Northward o'er the sea, My daughter comes with sunny locks: This land's too warm for me!
I remember three- and four-week-long snow days, and drifts so deep a small child, namely me, could get lost in them. No such winter exists in the record, but that's how Ohio winters seemed to me when I was little - silent, silver, endless, and dreamy.
Spring. March fans it, April christens it, and May puts on its jacket and trousers.
And much as Wine has played the Infidel, And robbed me of my Robe of Honor Well, I often wonder what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the stuff they sell.
Talent has the four seasons: spring, that is to say, the sowing of the seeds; summer, growth; autumn, the harvest; winter, intellectual death. But there is now and then a genius who has no winter, and, no matter how many years he may live, on the blossom of his thought no snow falls. Genius has the climate of perpetual growth.
April is a promise that May is bound to keep.
The life of man is a long march through the night, surrounded by invisible foes, tortured by weariness and pain, towards a goal that few can hope to reach, and where none may tarry long.
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