“I dig old books.”
Quotations about Summer
I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips. ~Violette Leduc, Mad in Pursuit
Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. ~Henry James
Hey! It’s summer! Be free and happy and danceful and uninhibited and now-y! ~Terri Guillemets
O for a summer noon, when light and breeze
Sport on the grass, like ripples o’er a lake
Alive with freshness! when the full round Sun,
With the Creator’s smile upon his face,
Walks like a prince of glory through the path
Of Heaven!—Thou vast, and ever-glorious sky,
Mantling the earth with thy majestic robe...
~Robert Montgomery, "Beautiful Influences," A Universal Prayer; Death; A Vision of Heaven; and A Vision of Hell; &c. &c., 1829
I am Summer, come to lure you away from your computer... come dance on my fresh grass, dig your toes into my beaches. ~Oriana Green, @NatureSpirits
Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer’s year — it brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul. ~Author Unknown
Then followed that beautiful season... Summer....
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We are happy now because God so wills it;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
’T is enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell...
The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near...
Every thing is upward striving;
’T is as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, —
’T is the natural way of living...
~James Russell Lowell, The Vision of Sir Launfal
I drifted into a summer-nap under the hot shade of July, serenaded by a cicadae lullaby, to drowsy-warm dreams of distant thunder. ~Terri Guillemets
In our methodical American life, we still recognize some magic in summer. Most persons at least resign themselves to being decently happy in June. They accept June. They compliment its weather. They complain of the earlier months as cold, and so spend them in the city; and they complain of the later months as hot, and so refrigerate themselves on some barren sea-coast. God offers us yearly a necklace of twelve pearls; most men choose the fairest, label it June, and cast the rest away. ~Thomas Wentworth Higginson, "April Days," 1861 [This attribution isn't perfectly accurate. The piece was published in 1861 in The Atlantic Monthly, but the wording here is from Higginson's collected Procession of the Flowers and Kindred Papers from 1897. In the original version, "American" is "New England" as well as a couple of other minor changes in wording.
I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days — three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain. ~John Keats
Summer is the time when one sheds one’s tensions with one’s clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all’s right with the world. ~Ada Louise Huxtable
Summer-induced stupidity. That was the diagnosis, I decided as I made my way up the dirt path in the pouring rain. ~Aimee Friedman, Sea Change
Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came; and if the village had been beautiful at first, it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees, which had looked shrunken and bare in the earlier months, had now burst into strong life and health; and stretching forth their green arms over the thirsty ground, converted open and naked spots into choice nooks, where was a deep and pleasant shade from which to look upon the wide prospect, steeped in sunshine, which lay stretched out beyond. The earth had donned her mantle of brightest green; and shed her richest perfumes abroad. It was the prime and vigour of the year; all things were glad and flourishing. ~Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist
If it could only be like this always — always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe... ~Evelyn Waugh
A man says a lot of things in summer he doesn’t mean in winter. ~Patricia Briggs
The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. ~Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting
This was one of those perfect New England days in late summer where the spirit of autumn takes a first stealing flight, like a spy, through the ripening country-side, and, with feigned sympathy for those who droop with August heat, puts her cool cloak of bracing air about leaf and flower and human shoulders. ~Sarah Orne Jewett
The end-of-summer winds make people restless. ~Sebastian Faulks, Engleby
There is something deep within us that sobs at endings. Why, God, does everything have to end? Why does all nature grow old? Why do spring and summer have to go? ~ Joe Wheeler