"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."
— Albert Camus

"April is the cruelest month, breeding
lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
memory and desire, stirring
dull roots with spring rain."
— T.S. Eliot (The Waste Land)

"As with most fine things, chocolate has its season....Any month whose name contains the letter a,e, or us is the proper time for chocolate."
— Sandra Boynton

"Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring."
— Truman Capote (Breakfast at Tiffany's)

"What is more cheerful, now, in the fall of the year, than an open-wood-fire? Do you hear those little chirps and twitters coming out of that piece of apple-wood? Those are the ghosts of the robins and blue-birds that sang upon the bough when it was in blossom last Spring. In Summer whole flocks of them come fluttering about the fruit-trees under the window: so I have singing birds all the year round."
— Thomas Bailey Aldrich

"Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was though a young person died for no reason. In those days, though, the spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed. "
— Ernest Hemingway, Moveable Feast

"The fruition of the year had come and the night should have been fine with a moon in the sky and the crisp sharp promise of frost in the air, but it wasn't that way. It rained and little puddles of water shone under the street lamps on Main Street. In the woods in the darkness beyond the Fair Ground water dripped from the black trees."
— Sherwood Anderson (Winesburg, Ohio)

"Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves,
We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!"
— Humbert Wolfe

"I have an affection for those transitional seasons, the way they take the edge off the intense cold of winter, or heat of summer."
— Whitney Otto (How to Make an American Quilt)

"She enjoys rain for its wetness, winter for its cold, summer for its heat. She loves rainbows as much for fading as for their brilliance. It is easy for her, she opens her heart and accepts everything."
— Morgan Llywelyn (Bard: The Odyssey of the Irish)

"The winter was blasting its cold winds of dire portent into the tender face of springtime."
— Stefano Benni (Margherita Dolce Vita)

"Delicious autumn! My soul is wedded to it, if I were a bird I would fly about the Earth seeking the successive autumns."
— French poet

"When you’re young you prefer the vulgar months, the fullness of the seasons. As you grow older you learn to like the in-between times, the months that can’t make up their minds. Perhaps it’s a way of admitting that things can’t ever bear the same certainty again."
— Julian Barnes (Flaubert's Parrot)

"How I will cherish you then,
you grief-torn nights!
Had I only received you,
inconsolable sisters,
on more abject knees, only
buried myself with more
abandon
in your loosened hair. How we waste
our afflictions!
We study them, stare out beyond them
into bleak continuance,
hoping to glimpse some end. Whereas
they're really
our wintering foliage, our dark greens
of meaning, one
of the seasons of the clandestine
year -- ; not only
a season --: they're site, settlement,
shelter, soil, abode."
— Rainer Maria Rilke (Duino Elegies)

"The place between actual seasons is filled with tiny roses in transition. There are murders and amputations in the garden. There are choirs on the sandy floors beneath oceans."
— Kate Braverman (Small Craft Warnings: Stories, Western Literature)

"Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves,
We have our summer evenings, now for October eves!"
— Humbert Wolfe

"But then fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you."
— Stephen King