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Quotations about August


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August... brings katydids, elderberries, blackberry pie, and goldenrod... August is just another thirty-one days of concentrated Summer, but it certainly gets one in condition to appreciate Fall when it comes. Good old August — we'll take it, and some of us will like it. ~Hal Borland


Now August comes with a dreamy haze of heat. ~Gladys Taber


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, 1975


August brings the sheaves of corn,
Then the harvest home is borne...
~Sara Coleridge (1802–1852), "The Months"


August... the very dead of summer... Spring was a fever and autumn will be a regret, but this is the month too aware of its own successful achievement to be more than barely sentient. The growth which continues seems without effort, like the accumulation of fat. If Nature is ever purely vegetative, it is now. She is but barely conscious. ~Joseph Wood Krutch, The Twelve Seasons, 1949


August is one of the hottest months of the northern year, so hold your breath and see that the fan is in order. It is also one of the longest months, and sometimes it seems even longer. ~Hal Borland


There are those who shudder at the approach of Autumn; and who feel a light grief stealing over their spirits, like an October haze, as the evening shadows slant sooner, and longer, over the face of an ending August day. But is not Autumn the Manhood of the year? Is it not the ripest of the seasons? ~Ik Marvel (Donald Grant Mitchell, 1822–1908), Dream Life: A Fable of the Seasons


August thunderstorms are masterpieces of bluster and bombardment. And sometimes August is bone-dry and full of dust, and we would gladly swap the whole of it for one rainy March week end. ~Hal Borland


The weather turned cooler after the storm. Real August weather... The days were brisk and clear and blue, and the nights were chilly. As the chorus of the crickets and the katydids died down to a mere murmur, people talked of an early frost. ~Gerald Raftery, Snow Cloud, 1951


O mellow month and merry month,
Let me make love to you,
And follow you around the world
As knights their ladies do.
I thought your sisters beautiful,
Both May and April, too,
But April she had rainy eyes,
And May had eyes of blue.
And June—I liked the singing
Of her lips, and liked her smile—
But all her songs were promises
Of something, after while;
And July's face—the lights and shade
That may not long beguile,
With alternations o'er the wheat,
The dreamer at the stile.
But you!—ah, you are tropical,
Your beauty is so rare;
Your eyes are clearer, deeper eyes
Than any, anywhere;
Mysterious, imperious,
Deliriously fair,
O listless Andalusian maid,
With bangles in your hair!
~James Whitcomb Riley, "August"


The change always comes about mid-August, and it always catches me by surprise. I mean the day when I know that summer is fraying at the edges, that September isn't far off and fall is just over the hill or up the valley. ~Hal Borland



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