To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—
Emily DickinsonRead
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To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—
People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.
What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.
That familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
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.
One must maintain a little bittle of summer, even in the middle of winter.
Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.
Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.
Summer afternoon, summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.
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.
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