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Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.
A life without love is like a year without summer.
Do what we can, summer will have its flies.
The tendinous part of the mind, so to speak, is more developed in winter; the fleshy, in summer. I should say winter had given the bone and sinew to literature, summer the tissues and the blood.
In summer, the song sings itself.
Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.
A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken.
If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance.
In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light.In summer quite the other way I have to go to bed by day.
In June, as many as a dozen species may burst their buds on a single day. No man can heed all of these anniversaries; no man can ignore all of them.
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
In summer, the song sings itself.
People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.
Summer is the time when one sheds one's tensions with one's clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all's right with the world.
One swallow does not make a summer.
Dirty hands, iced tea, garden fragrances thick in the air and a blanket of color before me, who could ask for more?
Summer makes a silence after spring.
Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.
I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.
I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips.
Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare,And left the flushed print in a poppy there.
To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie -True Poems flee.
What is one to say about June, the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade.
There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart.
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