“Instead of blue skies and sunshine, there are grey clouds and endless rain that seeps into your bones, your soul.” ― Cathy Cassidy, Angel Cake

 “May had now set in, but up here among the hills, she was May by curtesy only; or if she was May, she would never be might. She was, indeed, only April with her showers and sunshine, her tearful, childish laughter, and again the frown, and the despair irremediable. Nay, as if she still kept up a secret correspondence with her cousin March, banished for his rudeness, she would not very seldom shake from her skirts a snowstorm, and oftener the dancing hail. Then out would come the sun behind her, and laugh, and say-- "I could not help THAT; but here I am all the same, coming to you as fast as I can!”

― George MacDonald, Sir Gibbie