The Quote Garden
 “I dig old books.”
 Est. 1998




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Quotations about July


Related Quotes      Summer      June      August      Hot Weather      Monsoons


The market is full of delights in July:
Fresh vegetables, berries, red cherries for pie!
~Louise Bennett Weaver and Helen Cowles LeCron, "July," A Thousand Ways to Please a Husband with Bettina's Best Recipes, 1917


July is not only a season of the year; it is a season of the mind and memory. Hot days and sultry nights and crashing thunderstorms are a part of July, and to the drone of bees in the clover fields will soon be added the high-pitched sibilance of the cicada. The tang of ripe cherries and the sweetness of sunning hay... ~Hal Borland


Hot July brings cooling showers,
Apricots, and gilliflowers...
~Sara Coleridge (1802–1852), "The Months"


What dreams we have dreamed, and what visions we have seen, lying idly with half-shut eyes in some "greenwood shaw," sheltering from July's noonday sun, while we seemed to hear "airy tongues that syllable men's names," in the husky whispering of the leaves! ~The Book of Days, 1883, Robert Chambers, ed.  [quoting Allan Ramsay & John Milton —tg]


June in the branches sleeps its fill;
July and August are dead still...
~Mark Van Doren, "Hardhead," Spring Thunder and Other Poems, 1924


July is the high noon of the northern year... firefly nights and corn growing so fast out in Ioway that you can hear its joints pop in the moonlight. ~Hal Borland


The glowing ruby should adorn
Those who in Warm July are born...
~Author unknown


      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


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, "Summer-nap," 2011


Then came hot July boiling like to Fire,
That all his Garments he had cast away...
~Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene, 1596  ["It's gettin' Hot in Herre..." —tg]


If the first of July be rainy weather,
It will rain, more or less, for four weeks together.
~English proverb


Sunset in July... Along the western sky the glow becomes richer and deeper as the sun goes down to his rest. White fleecy clouds, tipped with a golden carmine, hover o'er him, crowding around to catch his gaze as he sinks. The hills assume a deep violet hue, and the distant peaks are tipt with gold. The fleecy clouds have now stretched out into bars of rosy red, through which the descending sun's edge peeps with mellowed light, sending its streamers still up into the sky. Rich streams of gold play upon the waters, becoming fainter and fainter. He has now dipt under the edge of the earth, and still the warm clouds linger about his setting. The blackbird makes his farewell song; the distant mountain peaks disappear; twilight steals over the flowers; and the great, old stars come out, and shine silently into the sea. ~Eliza Cook's Journal, 1850



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