In spring they lie flat at the first warmth, they ruin my summer and in autumn they smell of women.

I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.

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.

For, to make deserts, God, who rules mankind, Begins with kings, and ends the work by wind.

Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?

Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring.