Quotes About Summer

Summer has weeks left, but once the calendar displays the word "September," you'd think it was Latin for "evacuate." I pity them for missing the best weather and the most energized time of year…It's an extremely impressive display of life at the apogee of summer, the year's productivity mounded and piled past the angle of repose. It is a world lush with the living, a world that-despite the problems- still has what it takes to really produce.

I don't know what the beach of Laguna is like now but in the thirties it was a fine place to pass summer days. There was constant volleyball, there was surfing and surfers, there was an artist colony and there was so on and so forth and all of it was delightful. It seems to me that the best part of all was riding our bikes up the canyon at first dark in those days when the sky was still a poem. And

People look down on stuff like geography and meteorology, and not only because they're standing on one and being soaked by the other. They don't look quite like real science. But geography is only physics slowed down and with a few trees stuck on it, and meteorology is full of excitingly fashionable chaos and complexity. And summer isn't a time. It's a place as well. Summer is a moving creature and likes to go south for the winter.

What sound does forgetfulness make?' She hardly had to think. 'It's the sound of the wind in dead grasses on a hot summer's day.

Oh, you mean like Orpheo rescuing Euniphon from the Underworld?" said Roland. Rob Anybody just stared. "It's a myth from Ephebe," Roland went on. "It's supposed to be a love story, but it's really a metaphor for the annual return of summer. There's a lot of versions of that story." (...) "A metaphor is a kind o' lie to help people understand what's true," said Billy Bigchin, but this didn't help much.

Dusk—of a summer night.

Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire. My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly, Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?

I drink a lot of juices like nimbu paani.

It would be great to go to school all year and do movies during the summer, but it doesn't work that way. I'm not Julia Roberts, so I have to be flexible.

After living in the United States for over 10 years, here is what I have learned about the Fourth of July: it is more of a barbecuing holiday than anything else.

We all know you can't have a Fourth of July barbecue without the fixings that go with it.

When I work in San Francisco doing stand-up, I usually schedule it for July, and we'll drive up the coast and camp in Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo, Big Sur, and we'll just camp our way up the coast, and then we'll get to San Francisco and hang out there for four days.

Playing into June is the best thing.

If you're not keen on crowds, it might be best to give Edinburgh a miss during festival time when it can get extremely busy.

This mind is an amazing thing. It can conjure love from the scent of orange blossoms, peace from a dry breeze, and joy from a patch of grass on a summer day.

You thought it was a falling leaf we heard: I knew it was the Summer's gypsy feet.

from nine until three o'clock. I'd done it the past four years in a row and it was always fun. The kids were attentive and asked lots of great questions, and it always felt especially good to have some of the girls sign up for a summer job on my crew. I just wished I were feeling a little more energetic. I'd

The crush of it. So this is it. Love swallowed by mistake or circumstance. Romance and the moon conspired to make a summer fool of me.

Molly watched the pale water, changing, always changing, and always the same, and she could feel him near, not touching, not speaking. Thin clouds chased across the face of the swelling moon. Soon it would be full, the harvest moon, the end of Indian summer. The moon was so cleanly outlined, so unambiguous, she thought. A misshapen bowl, like an artifact made by inexpert hands that would improve with practice.

My room was in one of those turrets and at night I could hear the sea and the faint rustle of eelgrass in the soft wind. The weather was perfect that summer. No storms. Blue skies and just the right amount of wind every day. The sailors were in heaven.

It was the beginning of June; summer was arising out of spring, like an aloe from a field of grass.

I thought of summer as the living time; the rest of the year was the backward time, the writing time.

Sam and his mother, Anna Lee, arrived in Los Angeles in July of 1984. It was the summer of the Olympics, the first Summer Olympics to be held in the United States in fifty years. The mood was hopeful and manic.

Her voice sounds like a firefly looks on a summer night.