Quotes About Summer

I do wear a lot less makeup in the summer, definitely - mainly because you've got a bit of a base tan.

I do a bit of makeup, but in the summer, I don't tend to wear anything. When I get tan, I feel like my skin is so fresh that I don't need anything on it.

I hate being tan.

Sometimes I've sat outside, not to tan, but as a result of that I ended up tanning slightly.

As the wind, wandering over the sea, takes from each wave an invisible portion, and brings to those on shore the ethereal essence of ocean, so the air lingering among the woods and hedges—green waves and billows—became full of fine atoms of summer.

Summer shows us Matter changing into life, sap rising from the earth through a million tubes, the alchemic power of light entering the solid oak; and see! it bursts forth in countless leaves.

It is in this marvellous transformation of clods and cold matter into living things that the joy and the hope of summer reside. Every blade of grass, each leaf, each separate floret and petal, is an inscription speaking of hope. So that my hope becomes as broad as the horizon afar, reiterated by every leaf, sung on every bough, reflected in the gleam of every flower.

I ride the Hog up winding roads into the hinterlands of Benedict Canyon to a Gothic-style mansion right out of a thirties Universal horror movie. Dr. Frankenstein's summer home, or where a friendly neighbor chains up Lyle Talbot during the full moon. Even the name Lisa Thivierge is living under—Janet Lawton—is a gag: the name of the ingenue in the old Ed Wood movie Bride of the Monster. I like Thivierge already.

A torpid sun seeped through a haze of humidity

There are people who come into our lives as welcome as a cool breeze in summer- and last about as long.

It is caused, in its entirety, by a lifetime of bearing first-hand witness to, on behalf of everyone – courts, relatives, public, society – man's inhumanity to man. The result of this diagnosis? The summer of 2016 off work. Two cures: talking and pharmaceutical. And this book.

I wanted to be wanted and he was very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving. You could drown in those eyes, I said, so it's summer, so it's suicide, so we're helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.

You could drown in those eyes, I said, so it's summer, so it's suicide, so we're helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.

so it's summer, so it's suicide, so we're helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.

The sound of sporadic gunfire echoing through the narrow streets of Dublin sounded to ten-year-old Patrick Murphy like the rolling thunder from a summer storm brewing somewhere in the distance. Patrick peered around

But up in his room by artificial lightMy father paints the summer.

It was turning into mindless, unrewarding work, the kind of work that makes you clumsy with fatigue and petulant with lack of progress, and it looked as if it would take all summer.

Come on outside when you?re done,? I told her. ?It?s like the barbecue of the damned. Except . . . there?s no grill.

Finn stood away from all the water with his friend Dillard, who had taken the occasion to borrow one of his father's Hawaiian shirts. Finn thought he looked pretty cool.

Summer was like your house: you know where each thing stood. Now you must go out into your heart as onto a vast plain. Now the immense loneliness begins. The days go numb, the wind sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves. Through the empty branches the sky remains. It is what you have. Be earth now, and evensong. Be the ground lying under that sky. Be modest now, like a thing ripened until it is real, so that he who began it all can feel you when he reaches for you.

Some three years ago I drove down to Provence to spend a summer weekend with a lady who was interesting to me simply because she possessed an extraordinarily powerful muscle in a region where other women have no muscles at all.

THE SUMMER OF 1972, I watched TV for the first time. The Munich Olympics were broadcast around the clock and I loved its opera-worthy spectacle and drama.

Until the end of their lives, these men and women would tell stories about the summer they followed Lyndon Johnson and his Flying Windmill around Texas; as Oliver Knight of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram would write about one trip, "That mad dash from Navasota to Conroe in which I dodged stumps at 70 MPH just to keep up with that contraption will ever be green in my memory.") At the landing site, there would be the brief respite

But there was winter in my heart and I was looking for the door to summer.