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The circling months begin this day, To run their yearly ring, And long-breath'd time which ne'er will stay, Refits his wings, and shoots away, It round again to bring.

The new-year is the season in which custom seems more particularly to authorise civil and harmless lies, under the name of compliments. People reciprocally profess wishes, which they seldom form; and concern which they seldom
As the vulgar . . . are always very careful to end the old year well, so they are no less solicitous of making a good beginning of the new one. The old one is ended with a hearty compotation. The new one is opened with the custom of sending presents, which are termed New Year's Gifts, to friends and acquaintance.
Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Now the New Year reviving old Desires The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires.
Every man should be born again on the first day of January. Start with a fresh page. Take up one hole more in the buckle if necessary, or let down one, according to circumstances; but on the first of January let every man gird himself once more, with his face to the front, and take no interest in the things that were and are past.
Ring out the shame and sorrow And the misery and sin, That the dawning of the morrow May in peace be ushered in.
What can be said in New Year rhymes, That's not been said a thousand times? The new years come, the old years go, We know we dream, we dream we know.
New Year's Day; Nothing good or bad,-- Just human beings.
Welcome, New Year, but be more kind Than thy dead father left behind; If I may kiss no mouth that's red, Give me the open mouth instead Of a black bottle of old wine To gurgle in its neck and mine.
The year's doors open like those of language, toward the unknown.
On New Year's Day when all the Christmas decorations were taken down, we felt sad and let down; to us our house looked drab and naked, and although the visiting back and forth would continue until winter came to an end, Christmas was over.
I never liked New Year's Day anyway; it has too often felt like a day of foreboding.
I do think New Year's resolutions can't technically be expected to begin on New Year's Day, don't you? Since, because it's an extension of New Year's Eve, smokers are already on a smoking roll and cannot be expected to stop abruptly on the stroke of midnight with so much nicotine in the system. Also dieting on New Year's Day isn't a good idea as you can't eat rationally but really need to be free to consume what- ever is necessary, moment by moment, in order to ease your hangover. I think it would be much more sensible if resolutions began generally on January the second.
Through a dull tract of woe, of dread, The toiling year has pass'd and fled: And, lo! in sad and pensive strain, I sing my birth-day date again.
Good-morrow to the golden Morning! Good-morrow to the world's delight! I've come to bless thy life's beginning, That hath made my own so bright!
What different dooms our birthdays bring!
So mayst thou live, dear! many years, In all the bliss that life endears, Not without smiles, nor yet from tears Too strictly kept: When first thy infant littleness I folded in my fond caress, The greatest proof of happiness Was this--I wept.
Maiden, when such a soul as thine is born, The morning-stars their ancient music make.
There are three hundred and sixty-four days when you get un-birthday presents-- . . . And only one for birthday presents, you know.
To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable.
At another year I would not boggle Except that when I jog I joggle.
Because time itself is like a spiral, something special happens on your birthday each year: The same energy that God invested in you at birth is present once again.
Happy Birthday, Johnny, Live beyond your income, Travel for enjoyment, Follow your own nose.
I have always been intrigued at what went on in the world on my birthdays long before I was born.
I suppose it's possible that the Sundance Kid didn't like to make much of his birthdays--they may have struck him as just another reminder that his draw was getting slower by the year--but what if he truly liked a major celebration? What if he looked forward every year to marking the day of his birth with what they used to call in the West "a real wingding, with pink balloons and a few survivors"? I think Butch Cassidy would have arranged it.
I used to anticipate my childhood birthday parties as if each were an annual coronation. Like most kids, I loved sitting at the head of the table with a crown on my head. In recent years, however, birthdays have been more like medical checkups--no fun at all but necessary if one intends to stay alive from year to year.

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