April Fool Wishes and Status Messages - Page 6

Controversy equalizes fools and wise men...and the fools know it.

The roofs are shining from the rain,
The sparrows twitter as they fly,
And with a windy April grace
The little clouds go by.
Yet the back yards are bare and brown
With only one unchanging tree--
I could not be so sure of Spring
Save that it sings in me.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shawl and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.

Only a fool knows everything. A wise man knows how little he knows.

Wise men learn more from fools than fools from the wise.

If Spring came but once in a century, instead of once a year,
or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake,
and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would
be in all hearts to behold the miraculous change!
But now the silent succession suggests nothing but necessity.
To most men only the cessation of the miracle would be
miraculous and the perpetual exercise of Gods power
seems less wonderful than its withdrawal would be.

Sweet April showers
Do spring May flowers.

Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools talk because they have to say something.

Now that the winters gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful spring.

The first of April is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year.

The mistakes of the fool are known to the world, but not to himself.
The mistakes of the wise man are known to himself, but not to the world.

The first of April is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year.

To be a mans fool is bad enough; but the vain man is everybodys.

None but a fool is always right.

A fool flatters himself, a wise man flatters the fool.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day.
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
Youre one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
a cloud come over the sunlit arch,
And wind comes off a frozen peak,
And youre two months back in the middle of March.

A fool may have his coat embroidered with gold, but it is a fools coat still.

Young men think old men fools, and old men know young men to be so.

A wise man gets more use from his enemies than a fool from his friends.

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself a fool.

Lord, what fools these mortals be.

Keep your faith in all beautiful things;
in the sun when it is hidden,
in the Spring when it is gone.

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:
Of April, May, or June, and July flowers.
I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of the bridal cakes.

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

O Day after day we cant help growing older.
Year after year spring cant help seeming younger.
Come lets enjoy our winecup today,
Nor pity the flowers fallen.

When the time is ripe for certain things,
these things appear in different places in the manner
of violets coming to light in the early spring.

Wise men learn by other mens mistakes, fools by their own.

Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sellp-song on our roof at night--
And I love the rain.

When the April wind wakes the call for the soil, I hold the plough as my only hold upon the earth, and, as I follow through the fresh and fragrant furrow, I am planted with every foot-step, growing, budding, blooming into a spirit of spring.