Short Summer Quotes

Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

Catch, then, O catch the transient hour; Improve each moment as it flies!

We aged a hundred years, and this happened in a single hour: the short summer had already died, the body of the ploughed plains smoked.

Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation. If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you.

Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.

The end-of-summer winds make people restless.

Summer, after all, is a time when wonderful things can happen to quiet people.

Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.

A man says a lot of things in summer he doesn't mean in winter.

It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

One must maintain a little bittle of summer, even in the middle of winter.

I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

it's a smile, it's a kiss, it's a sip of wine ... it's summertime!

That familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.

Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

When I was a little kid, of course, I was brown all summer. That's because I was free as a bird- nothing to do but catch bugs all day.

Linus: It was a short summer, Charlie Brown. Charlie Brown: And it looks like it's gonna be a looong winter.

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.

Summer's lease hath all too short a date.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Summer bachelors, like summer breezes, are never as cool as they pretend to be.

August has passed, and yet summer continues by force to grow days. They sprout secretly between the chapters of the year, covertly included between its pages.

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning.

August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.

In the short summer night she learned so much. She would have thought a woman would have died of shame... She felt, now, she had come to the real bedrock of her nature, and was essentially shameless. She was her sensual self, naked an unashamed. She felt a triumph, almost a vainglory. So! That was how it was! That was life! That was how onself really was! There was nothing left to disguise or be ashamed of. She shared her ultimate nakedness with a man, another being.

Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.

Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.

If it could only be like this always - always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe and Aloysius in a good temper.

Catch, then, oh! catch the transient hour, Improve each moment as it flies; Life's a short summer-man a flower; He dies-alas! how soon he dies!

Now is the winter of our discontent.

The lime trees were in bloom. But in the early morning only a faint fragrance drifted through the garden, an airy message, an aromatic echo of the dreams during the short summer night.

Summer afternoon, summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.

There's no such thing as bad weather - only the wrong clothes.

There is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.

There's no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing

There's no such thing as bad weather, just soft people.