— Franz Kafka, The Diaries
{ text ID: March 23. Incapable of writing a line. }
— Lines Written in Early Spring, William Wordsworth
{ text ID: I heard a thousand blended notes, while in a grove I state reclined, in that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind. }
— Virginia Woolf, A Writer’s Diary
{ text ID: Yes, I deserve a spring — I owe nobody nothing. }
— Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
{ text ID: April advanced to May. A bright, serene May it was; days of blue sky and placid sunshine. }
— Monet, Le Jardin de l’artiste à Giverny
— Jane Austen, Mansfield Park
{ text ID: the day was uncommonly lovely. It was really March; but it was April in its mild air, brisk soft wind, and bright sun, occasionally clouded for a minute; and everything looked so beautiful under the influence of such a sky…}