Quotes on June

I entered the University of Natal as a preliminary-year student in 1966 and stayed on to June 1972, when I was expelled from the university. I was then doing third-year medicine.

AND what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten.

Take the entire 4.5-billion-year history of the earth and scale it down to a single year, with January 1 being the origin of the earth and midnight on December 31 being the present. Until June, the only organisms were single-celled microbes, such as algae, bacteria, and amoebae. The first animal with a head did not appear until October. The first human appears on December 31. We, like all the animals and plants that have ever lived, are recent crashers at the party of life on earth.

How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?

Some people plant in the spring and leave in the summer. If you're signed up for a season, see it through. You don't have to stay forever, but at least stay until you see it through.

In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment in June.

And let them pass, as they will too soon, _x000D_ _x000D_ With the bean-flowers' boon, _x000D_ _x000D_ And the blackbird's tune, _x000D_ _x000D_ And May, and June!

I pray that the life of this spring and summer may ever lie fair in my memory.

In these divine pleasures permitted to me of walks in the June night under moon and stars, I can put my life as a fact before me and stand aloof from its honor and shame.

Spring has many American faces. There are cities where it will come and go in a day and counties where it hangs around and never quite gets there. Summer is drawn blinds in Louisiana, long winds in Wyoming, shade of elms and maples in New England.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, _x000D_ _x000D_ For as you were when first your eye I eyed,_x000D_ _x000D_ Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold _x000D_ _x000D_ Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,_x000D_ _x000D_ Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd _x000D_ _x000D_ In process of the seasons have I seen, _x000D_ _x000D_ Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,_x000D_ _x000D_ Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.

June 16, 1971, mama gave birth to a Hell rasing heavenly son.

It is dry, hazy June weather. We are more of the earth, farther from heaven these days.

I gazed upon the glorious sky_x000D_ _x000D_ And the green mountains round,_x000D_ _x000D_ And thought that when I came to lie_x000D_ _x000D_ At rest within the ground,_x000D_ _x000D_ 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June_x000D_ _x000D_ When brooks send up a cheerful tune,_x000D_ _x000D_ And groves a joyous sound,_x000D_ _x000D_ The sexton's hand, my grave to make,_x000D_ _x000D_ The rich, green mountain-turf should break.

It is better to be a young June-bug than an old bird of paradise.

Roads go ever ever on, Over rock and under tree, By caves where never sun has shone, By streams that never find the sea; Over snow by winter sown, And through the merry flowers of June, Over grass and over stone, And under mountains of the moon. Roads go ever ever on Under cloud and under star, Yet feet that wandering have gone Turn at last to home afar. Eyes that fire and sword have seen And horror in the halls of stone Look at last on meadows green And trees and hills they long have known

How sad it is!" murmured Dorian Gray with his eyes still fixed upon his own portrait. "How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful. But this picture will remain always young. It will never be older than this particular day of June… . If it were only the other way! If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was to grow old! For that—for that—I would give everything! Yes, there is nothing in the whole world I would not give! I would give my soul for that!

I received your letter of June 10th. I have never talked to a Jesuit priest in my life and I am astonished by the audacity to tell such lies about me. From the viewpoint of a Jesuit priest I am, of course, and have always been an atheist.

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

She makes use of the soft of the bread for a napkin. She falls asleep at times with shoes on, on unmade beds. When a little money comes in, June buys delicacies, strawberries in the winter, caviar and bath salts.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.