Summer Is Coming Quotes

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.

Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer's year. It brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul.

Another secret of the universe: Sometimes pain was like a storm that came out of nowhere. The clearest summer could end in a downpour. Could end in lightning and thunder.

I'd be happy with this summer if it's all we ever had.

Don't remember summer even saying goodbye.

One benefit of Summer was that each day we had more light to read by.

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.

My old grandmother always used to say, Summer friends will melt away like summer snows, but winter friends are friends forever.

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.

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

I fell for her in summer, my lovely summer girl, From summer she is made, my lovely summer girl, I’d love to spend a winter with my lovely summer girl, But I’m never warm enough for my lovely summer girl, It’s summer when she smiles, I’m laughing like a child, It’s the summer of our lives; we’ll contain it for a while She holds the heat, the breeze of summer in the circle of her hand I’d be happy with this summer if it’s all we ever had.

Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.

summer, after all, is a time when wonderful things can happen to quiet people. for those few months, you’re not required to be who everyone thinks you are, and that cut-grass smell in the air and the chance to dive into the deep end of a pool give you a courage you don’t have the rest of the year. you can be grateful and easy, with no eyes on you, and no past. summer just opens the door and lets you out.

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.

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

Autumn is leaving its mellowness behind for its spiky, rotted stage. Don't remember summer even saying goodbye.

Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?

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.

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.

But then fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.

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