„Come let us mock at the wise;With all those calendars whereonThey fixed old aching eyes,They never saw how seasons run,And now but gape at the sun.“

— W.B. Yeats

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„Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;Conspiring with him how to load and blessWith fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run“
— John Keats
„I never claimed to be a man for all seasons.“
— Frank Zappa