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

Yes, I deserve a spring–I owe nobody nothing.

I was in a queer mood, thinking myself very old: but now I am a woman again - as I always am when I write.

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

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

Or maybe spring is the season of love and fall the season of mad lust. Spring for flirting but fall for the untamed delicious wild thing.