Thus with the year / Seasons return, but not to me returns / Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, / Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, / Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine.

In those vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth

The childhood shows the man, as morning shows the day

The childhood shows the man, / As morning shows the day. Be famous then / By wisdom; as thy empire must extend, / So let extend thy mind o'er all the world.

Haven't played in a game since. These last two seasons have been a bust for me.

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods
And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.