“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
There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart. ~Celia Thaxter
Princess, what though we suffer? Sun and skies
And green trees' beauty make our cares seem small;
Boon that no Esau sells, or Crœsus buys,
The golden summer-time, is over all.
~Percy Reeve, "A Ballade of Summer-Time," Love & Music, 1883
The summer night is like a perfection of thought. ~Wallace Stevens
In summer, the song sings itself. ~William Carlos Williams
Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability. ~Sam Keen
Summer has set in with its usual severity. ~Samuel Taylor Coleridge
People don’t notice whether it’s winter or summer when they’re happy. ~Anton Chekhov
A life without love is like a year without summer. ~Swedish Proverb
Press close, bare-bosomed Night! Press close, magnetic,
Night of south winds! Night of the large, few stars!
Still, nodding Night! Mad, naked, Summer Night!
What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness. ~John Steinbeck
Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation. If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you. ~Erma Bombeck
The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. ~Author unknown, commonly misattributed to Mark Twain
Do what we can, summer will have its flies. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer. ~F. Scott Fitzgerald
One benefit of summer was that each day we had more light to read by. ~Jeannette Walls, The Glass Castle
Green was the silence, wet was the light,
the month of June trembled like a butterfly....
Heat, ma’am! it was so dreadful here, that I found there was nothing left for it but to take off my flesh and sit in my bones. ~Sydney Smith, Lady Holland’s Memoir
How beautiful are the rosy footsteps of May! Less showery and changeful than April, and not so heated and burdensome as June, she stands like a gentle mediator between the two.... With her soft blue eye, and her mild but radiant countenance, she comes like an angel of light among men.... She scatters in her path the sweetest flowers of nature, and everywhere breathes fragrance and joyousness. The birds of the air are carolling her welcome, and even the mute beasts of the field seem happier at her coming. ~"May," Eliza Cook's Journal, 1850 May 4th
When Winter's gone to rest,
And Spring is our dear guest;
The Merry May, at break of day,
Comes in gay garlands drest.
The brightest smiles she brings—
Of sweetest hopes she sings
And trips a-pace with dainty grace
And lightest fairy wings.
~S.J. Adair Fitz-Gerald (1859–1925), The Zankiwank & The Bletherwitch, 1896
Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the blue sky, is by no means waste of time. ~John Lubbock, "Recreation," The Use of Life, 1894
Each fairy breath of summer, as it blows with loveliness, inspires the blushing rose. ~Author Unknown
There is no price set on the lavish summer,
And June may be had by the poorest comer.
~James Russell Lowell, The Vision of Sir Launfal
It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside. ~Maud Hart Lovelace, Betsy-Tacy and Tib, 1941
Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. ~Henry James
The luxury of all summer's sweet sensation is to be found when one lies at length in the warm, fragrant grass, soaked with sunshine, aware of regions of blossoming clover and of a high heaven filled with the hum of innumerous bees. ~Harriet E. Prescott, The Atlantic Monthly, August 1865
[W]oods are filled with the music of birds, and all nature is laughing under the glorious influence of Summer. ~Charles Lanman, "The Dying Year," 1840
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.
At last [Spring] comes where the Summer stands
Girt around with his fiery bands;
Who steppeth forth as he sees her come,
And opens his arms for a welcome home;
Then towards her, coming, he steps apace,
And folds her into his close embrace.
~J.J. Britton (1832–1913), "Epithalamium"
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
The sun tires of summer and sighs itself into autumn. ~Terri Guillemets
Neither Willie nor Maude could understand how it could be Midsummer Night, because Midsummer Day was such a long way off—quite six weeks, for this was only yet the month of May. But they did not say anything, because Robin Goodfellow was looking at them, and they knew they were invisible, because they could not even feel themselves—which is a curious sensation, when you come to think of it. ~S.J. Adair Fitz-Gerald (1859–1925), The Zankiwank & The Bletherwitch, 1896
The year has now attained his manhood, and we are in midsummer; the sun is in full power, and at noon all nature is silent under his spell; even the bee hangs silent upon the flower; the mowers rest in the fields, and lay themselves down in the hot sun to sleep away the midday hour.... The pulse of nature stands still. Glancing across the plain, you see the rarefied and glimmering air ascending from the heated earth....
The silence is broken by the muttering of distant thunder. A cloud no bigger than a man's hand rises in the west, the heat becomes more overpowering, the air more sultry, the sky is overcast, and peal after peal of Heaven's artillery resounds through the concave; cloud thunders to cloud, and the forked lightning instantly shoots in a brilliant stream from side to side of the heavens. The rain comes pouring down, and the parched earth is refreshed, and drinks in the moisture like a sponge. How delicious to walk out after a shower, and inhale the odour...
In our gardens the fruits are fast reaching perfection; all esculent plants are in full use; the rich juicy black currant is ripe, and the gooseberries are full almost to bursting. Ripe strawberries nestle under every leaf.... Now is the season for bathing, whether in river or ocean. How delicious is a plunge in this thirsty weather! ~"July," Eliza Cook's Journal, 1850 July 6th
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
June, thy beauty is a snare,
To waste time in visions rare;
Of vain dreaming, oh, beware!
~Caroline May, 1887
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