Quotes About August

The west coast of Corsica on a boat in August is probably as beautiful as it gets.

The children start school now in August. They say it has to do with air-conditioning, but I know sadism when I see it.

It isn't August. The moon is asleep and I'm sitting on my porch roof like a frozen gargoyle, wondering if the sun is going to blow off the world today and sleepin.

Summer for prose and lemons, for nakedness and languor, for the eternal idleness of the imagined return, for rare flutes and bare feet, and the August bedroom of tangled sheets.

Youth is in a grand flush, like the hot days of ending summer and pleasant dreams thrall your spirit, like the smoky atmosphere that bathes the landscape of an August day.

Already our paths are diverging, a little more every day the closer we get to August.

Moonlight was a particular source of dread. That Friday, August 16, Cockett wrote in her diary, "With this gorgeous moon we all expect more tonight.

ONE MORNING IN AUGUST 1886, as heat rose from the streets with the intensity of a child's fever

On August 3 a big Chicago bank, Lazarus Silverman, failed.

It was never dark enough, the enormous sky flashing with August light rushing into the emptiest rooms, the loneliest windows. The month of falling stars.

The PGA Championship, last of the majors each year, might well be accustomed to having fun poked at it by the print press for being mired in August, but this isn't fair.

The band's never taken a year off. Last August we decided to take one, and three months in I was bored to tears.

August is dust here. Drought stuns the road, but juice gathers in the berries.

The road is a strange place. Shuffling along, I looked up and you were there walking across the grass toward my truck on an August day. In retrospect, it seems inevitable - it could not have been any other way-- a case of what I call the high probability of the improbable

After this meeting and before sailing on August 2, Troubridge had called his captains together and warned them that "they must not be surprised if they saw me with the squadron run away.

I saw the spiders marching through the air, Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed day In latter August when the hay Came creaking to the barn. But where The wind is westerly, Where gnarled November makes the spiders fly Into the apparitions of the sky, They purpose nothing but their ease and die Urgently beating east to sunrise and the sea;

We return to climatic concerns with the Volturnalia of 27 August. Volturnus was a devastating wind, 'whirling around on the heights' (Lucr., 5, 745)

They found out about him in July and stayed angry all through August. They tried to kill him in September. It was way too soon. They weren't ready. The attempt was a failure. It could have been a disaster, but it was actually a miracle. Because nobody noticed.

At its August 7, 2007, meeting, the FOMC had concluded that 'although the downside risks to growth have increased somewhat, the Committee's predominant policy concern remains the risk that inflation will fail to moderate as expected.' How's that going?, many of us thought when we read the statement. The predominant concern is inflation? Many Fed watchers blinked in disbelief. What were those guys thinking?

In our vile English climate, rough winds shake not only the darling buds of May, but of June, July, August and September as well.

In August 2014, the residents of the San Joaquin Valley in drought-plagued California found themselves without water as individual wells

August 23, 1793. (THE LIBRARY COMPANY OF PHILADELPHIA)

Tas bija br?niš??gi un piln?gi sadom?ti. Viss bija ne?sts. T? nebija dz?ve. T? nebija Par?ze. Bija augusts. Es nebiju t?rists. Es nebiju vecpuisis. Es meloju pats sev. Sev, vi?ai, savai ?imenei. Vi?a nebija mu??e, un, kad pien?ca pa?iru laiks, telefona zvani un meli, vi?a aizbrauca. Pie lidostas durv?m vi?a man pav?st?ja: ''Es m??in?šu dz?vot bez jums. Es ceru, man izdosies…

You, Doctor Martin, walkfrom breakfast to madness. Late August,I speed through the antiseptic tunnel where the moving dead still talkof pushing their bones against the thrustof cure. And I am queen of this summer hotelor the laughing bee on a stalkof death.