Quotes About Summer

My smells of university are the tarry wax on Barbour jackets and the oily wool of a Guernsey jumper. Fiendish fruity Pimms made in plastic dustbins for summer parties, with sickly sweet lemonade, fragrant with slices of apple and cucumber and handfuls of mint.

In the heat of the Russian summer a sleeping car is the most horrible instrument of martyrdom imaginable.

I'll really miss you at Camp Meadowcroak this year, Arthur," Buster said. "I wish I didn't have to go on vacation with my family," said Arthur. "There'll be nothing to do and no one to do it with." "You'll have D.W.," Buster said, smiling. "For a whole week." "Don't remind me," said Arthur.

Tess, you need to forget what you don't remember and focus on what you do. You guys had, like, the epic summer. You'll never forget it. Hell, I won't forget it and I was just a jealous bystander.

Tu étais entré dans ma vie comme arrive l'été, sans prévenir, avec ces éclats de lumière qu'on retrouve au matin.

Then, in the summer of 991, a much larger force arrived from Scandinavia.

When, on a summer evening, the melodious sky growls like a tawny lion, and everyone is complaining of the storm, it is the memory of the Méséglise way that makes me stand alone in ecstasy, inhaling, through the noise of the falling rain, the lingering scent of invisible lilacs.

Wander a whole summer if you can...time will not be taken from the sum of your life. Instead of shortening, it will definitely lengthen it and make you truly immortal.

GRAY-EYED COLE SAT in his bedroom window, looking out over the road, a scoped Ruger 10/22 in his hands. Squirrel rifle. Below him, a quilt hung on the wire clothesline, airing out. Before the end of the day, the quilt would smell like early-summer fields, with a little gravel dust mixed in. A wonderful smell, a smell like home.

THE DAY WAS PERFECT: low eighties, bluebird sky, the slightest touch of a breeze. If the Minnesota August lasted all year, nobody would live anywhere else.

Lucas bought a purple-flavored Popsicle

Fireflies weren't supposed to last this deep into the summer, Virgil knew. Maybe he was getting a signal from God, from one of God's bugs. But what would a yellow light mean? Caution? A little late, huh? —

Not a big intellectual, he'd nevertheless spent an entire summer reading an English translation of Valentin Louis Georges Eugène Marcel Proust's À la recherché du temps perdu while knitting together the web of a major crack gang that spread over the Twin Cities. He couldn't read French, but the book had made him want to learn the language; he'd just never had time.

Sometimes in the summer evenings they walked up the hill to watch the afterglow clinging to the tops of the western mountains and to feel the breeze drawn into the valley by the rising day-heated air. Usually they stood silently for a while and breathed in peacefulness. Since both were shy they never talked about themselves. Neither knew about the other at all.

And in the summer the river didn't run at all above ground.

I do wonder if the stab of memory doesn't strike him high in the stomach just below the ribs where it hurts. And in the humid ever-summer I dare his picturing mind not to go back to the shout of color, to the clean rasp of frosty air, to the smell of pine wood burning and the caressing warmth of kitchens. For how can one know color in perpetual green, and what good is warmth without cold to give it sweetness?

June The sun is rich And gladly pays In golden hours, Silver days, And long green weeks That never end. School's out. The time Is ours to spend. There's Little League, Hopscotch, the creek, And, after supper, Hide-and-seek. The live-long light Is like a dream, and freckles come Like flies to cream.

Long weekends at festivals, short weeks at home, all summer long: now that is surely preferable to the immense cost and headache of the nuclear family holiday in the sun?

My first memory of loving music happened so early. We would always go to the beach in the summer and I would run from blanket to blanket, from family to family and just sing Lion King songs acapella.

My wife and I got engaged in New Hampshire at this lake house that her family's had forever, and it's on Lake Winnipesaukee. And so we went there every summer as we were dating.

When I was little, I grew up in a place called Hertfordshire, which is just near London, but out in the country, and I visited Pakistan in the summers to go and see my family on my dad's side.

Our whole family assembles in Chicago at Christmas and usually in Aspen in the summer.

His witch had finally arrived. He knew it within his heart and he danced, giddy as a schoolboy on the first day of summer vacation.

Baseball is continuous, like nothing else among American things, an endless game of repeated summers, joining the long generations of all the fathers and all the sons.