Summer Quotes

The girl was alluring. Like wildfire, or a summer storm swept off the Gulf of Oro.

This is so funny,” said Ellen, noticing the seating arrangement. “Isn’t this funny? Tom, come sit next to Robin. Griffin, sit next to Laura.”tI stood up and sat next to Robin while Griffin brought his chair over to Laura.t“That’s better,” said Ellen. “Isn’t that better?

Ô, Sunlight! The most precious gold to be found on Earth.

Hot weather opens the skull of a city, exposing its white brain, and its heart of nerves, which sizzle like the wires inside a lightbulb. And there exudes a sour extra-human smell that makes the very stone seem flesh-alive, webbed and pulsing.

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.

December's wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer's memory...

...and so many colorsI will have seen...the menacing greysand pine greensthe soft pink and purplesof springand summer blueand so many otherswithout you.

The day was so wonderful that Bonaventure thought it would taste like cherry pie if he took a bite of it.

Summertime. It was a song. It was a season. I wondered if that season would ever live inside of me.

Perhaps it is always summer, in the place where we are young.

He sighed, then said, "So basically, you're stalking her.""I am NOT stalking her." I insisted."That's where you come in. If I followed her by myself, someone who did not understand the situation and did not realize that I am so responsible-"McGillicuddy snorted."- might mistake what I am doing for stalking.However, her big brother is with me. Therefore we are protecting her.

Some of us wear our hearts. Some of us carry them.

Their house was about a mile outside of town. The kids would play outdoors, in the backyard and the large stubble field behind the house. Dusk seemed to last for hours, and when it was finally dark they would sit under the porch light, catching thickly buzzing June bugs and moths, or even an occasional toad who hopped into the circle of light, tempted by the halo of insects that floated around the bare orange lightbulb next to the front door

Absolutely. No more pretending!

Enjoy the stillness, sweet snail! Savor the spring breeze while it still means something! Soon enough, like summer tempests your tears will come!

Summer in Pittsburgh had a way of hating you, had a way of beating you down, getting into your bones and thoughts. Only the strongest survived the humidity of Pittsburgh summers, until winter came on and brought with it a test of a different sort, to see who was strong enough to make it to summer. All weather in Pittsburgh had an attitude, forced you to submit to it. Dared you to survive.

Life is for the living and the dead, she said in a smile,And flashed me a bit of pale thigh in the summer time

No,” moaned Tom in despair. “School. School straight on ahead! Why, why do dime stores show things like that in windows before summer’s even over! Ruin half the vacation!

Take off that darn fur coat!...Or maybe you'd like to have us open all the windows.

Press close, bare-bosomed Night! Press close, magnetic, nourishing Night!Night of south winds! Night of the large, few stars!Still, nodding Night! Mad, naked, Summer Night!from Strophe 21, "Song of Myself

In June we picked the clover,And sea-shells in July:There was no silence at the door,No word from the sky.A hand came out of AugustAnd flicked his life away:We had not time to bargain, mope,Moralize, or pray.

Summer-induced stupidity.That was the diagnosis...

It was the twenty-first of June and Bitsy announced a Summer Solstice party.

But when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.

Today was the first day of summer, she realized, her spirits lifting like a kite. She loved milestones of any sort: birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, checks on the calendar, notches on a growth chart. Today would be special, brand new. She felt it deep inside. Summer was here with sunny days and balmy nights, the informality of barbecues and dips in the swimming pool. She was so relieved to have the grind of the school year finished. She missed playing with her children.

The warmly cool, clear, ringing, perfumed, overflowing, redundant days, were as crystal goblets of Persian sherbet, heaped up—flaked up, with rose-water snow.

I love you, Tess McGee. I don’t do big funny or heartfelt speeches in front of people at birthday parties, but I’m excellent in private alcoves in beer gardens.” He paused. “Okay, that sounded really bad, what I mean is …”I kissed him into silence. I pressed my forehead against his with a sigh. “I love you, too, Toby. In fact, that’s what I was going to tell you before we walked into the beer garden. Right before the really bad singing started.”Toby chuckled. He let out a sigh of relief. “Ready to reminisce?”I whispered my final word before he closed the distance.“Always.

Most people who spend their lives are dreaming of having a summer house somewhere in the suburb of their city where they could lie in the hot sun all day long, drinking coffee and juice. They think they are enjoying life, but really they are spending life.

Ghosts are everywhere, not just the ghost of Momma in the woods, but ghosts of us too, what we used to be like in those long summers.

I was surrounded by friends, my work was immense, and pleasures were abundant. Life, now, was unfolding before me, constantly and visibly, like the flowers of summer that drop fanlike petals on eternal soil. Overall, I was happiest to be alone; for it was then I was most aware of what I possessed. Free to look out over the rooftops of the city. Happy to be alone in the company of friends, the company of lovers and strangers. Everything, I decided, in this life, was pure pleasure.

Do you want to achieve something or do you just want to make money?” asked a nearby man in a white shirt to another man in a striped shirt. I waited for the answer as I slowly walked past them. “Why is it an either or question?” the man in the striped shirt finally murmured philosophically under a sip of beer. They both stood there looking at each other in thought.

I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.

I still remember the day my father took me to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books for the first time. It was the early summer of 1945, and we walked through the streets of a Barcelona trapped beneath ashen skies as dawn poured over Rambla de Santa Monica in a wreath of liquid copper.

Oof!" Adam caught me all right, with the side of his head. I could tell by the feel of his skull on my foot as I kicked him. He grabbed me the best he could anyway, and we half landed, half fell in the pine needles.He lay facedown on the ground. I flopped him over on his back to make sure he was alive. If he had a concussion, we'd have to call the ambulance, which meant we'd get caught and he'd get sent to military school.On the bright side, maybe the military school would not take him if he had brain damage."I'm so sorry.""Worth it," he grunted. He rolled onto his feet like a ninja and grabbed my hand. "Hurry, before they release the hounds.

I have hopein who I am becoming.I have belief in every scar and disgraceful wordI have ever spokenor been toldbecause it is still teaching meand I have hope in who I am becoming.They say it takes 756 days to run to someone you loveand they also say that the only romance worth fighting foris the one with yourselfand I know by nowthat they say a lot of things,people talking everywherewithout saying a word,but if it took me all those years to learn myselfor teach myselfhow to look into the mirrorwithout breaking itI know for a fact that it was a fight worth fighting.I stood up for my own head and so did my heartand we are coming to terms with ourselves.Shaking hands, saying ”let’s make this workfor we have places to goand people to seeand we will need each other”So I have hopein who I am becoming.It’s Julyand I have hope in who I am becoming.

Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, and left the flushed print in a poppy there.

As long as the earth remains, there will be day and night, planting and harvesting, cold and heat, summer and winter. These cycles shall never ceased. Genesis 8:22

At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon.

The spring rains woke the dormant tillers, and bright green shoots sprang from the moist earth and rose like sleepers stretching after a long nap. As spring gave way to summer, the bright green stalks darkened, became tan, turned golden brown. The days grew long and hot. Thick towers of swirling black clouds brought rain, and the brown stems glistened in the perpetual twilight that dwelled beneath the canopy. The wheat rose and the ripening heads bent in the prairie wind, a rippling curtain, an endless, undulating sea that stretched to the horizon.

When the winter comes, the summer shines infinitely in our hearts!

Green was the silence, wet was the light,the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

Pies mean Thanksgiving and Christmas and picnics.

The ticking seconds pulled me toward the end. It was cold when he no longer held me. It got colder every step I took away from him. Just my imagination, of course. It was still summer here. It would always be summer here for me.

Butterfly causing a tsunami with on beat of its wing.

The stars glittered in the sky and as the number of people at the party grew there were merging conversations and laughter and bodies moving in outlines around the kegs of beer in a curtsy of youth.

Summer arrives with the morning sun.Beach time breezes in with endless fun.

There had once been a time when I'd dreaded the end of summer, had prayed it would hold out for as long as possible. Now the thought of endless warmth and sun made me . . . bored. Restless.

We tend to take summer's vitality for granted, when in actuality it is just one prolonged drought, or disease, away from decimation.

God what an outfield,' he says. 'What a left field.' He looks up at me, and I look down at him. 'This must be heaven,' he says.No. It's Iowa,' I reply automatically. But then I feel the night rubbing softly against my face like cherry blossoms; look at the sleeping girl-child in my arms, her small hand curled around one of my fingers; think of the fierce warmth of the woman waiting for me in the house; inhale the fresh-cut grass small that seems locked in the air like permanent incense; and listen to the drone of the crowd, as below me Shoelss Joe Jackson tenses, watching the angle of the distant bat for a clue as to where the ball will be hit.I think you're right, Joe,' I say, but softly enough not to disturb his concentration.

The summer,' Randy explained. 'I'm going to appreciate it. I'm going to walk in the woods noticing everything, and ride my bike on all the roads I never explored. I'm going to fill a pillow with ladies' tobacco so I can smell it in January and remember about August. I'm going to dry a big bunch of pennyroyal so I can break pieces off all winter and think of summer. I'm going to look at everything, and smell everything, and listen to everything so I'll never forget --

summer, after all, is a time when wonderful things can happen to quiet people. for those few months, you’re not required to be who everyone thinks you are, and that cut-grass smell in the air and the chance to dive into the deep end of a pool give you a courage you don’t have the rest of the year. you can be grateful and easy, with no eyes on you, and no past. summer just opens the door and lets you out.

How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.Some dance to remember, some dance to forget

I felt drunk on Chase and high on summertime. Why did that sound just like a country song?

Beacon, beacon, lonesome on a hill—Waves run aground, pound ‘round, what a thrill!Water water everywhere crashes,Shore’s not lazy for it mashes, bashes…..Summer’s when tourists traipse o’er to see you,Offering to wipe-wash your dust and mildew;Summer painters place you with dinghy and gull,Historians have you as subject o’er which to mull.When feline Fog drifts gently or is heavy,tYour bright light’s followed by boat bevy;And during those calm, clear days and nightsYou’re that upright nautical dream exciting tiny tykes.

The Art of Living is to be yourself. It is to be true to yourself. The Art of Living is learning to live with love, awareness and truth. Meditation is the way to learn The Art of Living. Being is you. To discover your being is the beginning of life.You can live in two ways:1. Ego - effort and desire and 2.Being - no-effort, being in a let go with existence. Religion is The Art of Living.Five keys to The Art of Living: 1. Be life-affirmative. Life is synonymous with God.Live with reverence, great respect and gratitude for life. Feel thankful and prayerful. 2. Make life an heartful, aesthetic experience.Become more sensitive, sensuous and creative - and you will become more spiritual.3.Experience life in all possible ways.Experience all dualities and polarities of life: good/bad, bitter/sweet, summer/winter, happiness/sadness and life/death.Do not be afraid of experience, because the more experiences you have, the more spiritually mature you become. 4. Live in the present.Forget the past and the future - this moment is the only reality.This moment has to become your whole love, life and death.5.Live courageously.Do not become too result-oriented, because result-oriented people miss life. Do not think of goals, because goals are in the future - and life is in the moment, in the here and now.

We never really know what might me beside us or ahead, but most days we walk as if we do

circle back, you're nearly through.The next one, then just one more clue. Summer's coming, dark and drear,Soon those tourists will appear.In the word hoard you will findBooks with numbers on the spines.A 2 a 9 a 2 again-Not too easy for Athena's friend.

In summer, we grow younger and stay young forever.

It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

So slip on your goggles and your reading trunks, for the sun is high. Let me leave you with one more thought. In what season of the year do we find ourselves - I'm speaking for a moment in terms of the physical world - wading through things? Surf. Kelp. Books. Summer.