Explore Quotes on Summer

If there were no tribulation, there would be no rest; if there were no winter, there would be no summer.

I used to visit and revisit it a dozen times a day, and stand in deep contemplation over my vegetable progeny with a love that nobody could share or conceive of who had never taken part in the process of creation. It was one of the most bewitching sights in the world to observe a hill of beans thrusting aside the soil, or a rose of early peas just peeping forth sufficiently to trace a line of delicate green.

Do what we can, summer will have its flies.

I do not wish to die- There is such contingent beauty in life: The open window on summer mornings Looking out on gardens and green things growing, The shadowy cups of roses flowering to themselves- Images of time and eternity- Silence in the garden and felt along the walls.

Summer makes a silence after spring.

I'm going to help the committee regardless of any position I have. I will volunteer to be a summer intern.

Something told the wild geese_x000D__x000D_It was time to go._x000D__x000D_Though the fields lay golden_x000D__x000D_Something whispered, "snow." _x000D__x000D_Leaves were green and stirring,_x000D__x000D_Berries, luster-glossed,_x000D__x000D_But beneath warm feathers_x000D__x000D_Something cautioned, "frost."_x000D__x000D_All the sagging orchards_x000D__x000D_Steamed with amber spice_x000D__x000D_But each wild breast stiffened_x000D__x000D_At remembered ice._x000D__x000D_Something told the wild geese_x000D__x000D_It was time to fly-_x000D__x000D_Summer sun was on their wings,_x000D__x000D_Winter in their cry.

When autumn shadows throw their patterns across the land, they are not the images of fragile, dying leaves, not the bared arms of lofty elms, not shadows of a fading summer; but swinging shapes as of books upon a strap, of round and square boxes held under an arm, of hurrying little people heading towards the nearest school.

Autumn truly is what summer pretends to be: the best of all seasons. It is as glorious as summer is tedious; as subtle as summer is obvious; as refreshing as summer is wearying. Autumn seems like paradise.

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellowed richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a-weary.

The heat of autumn_x000D_is different from the heat of summer. _x000D_One ripens apples, the other turns them to cider.

I see, when I bend close, how each leaflet of a climbing rose is bordered with frost, the autumn counterpart of the dewdrops of summer dawns. The feathery leaves of yarrow are thick with silver rime and dry thistle heads rise like goblets plated with silver catching the sun.

Ere, in the northern gale,_x000D__x000D_The summer tresses of the trees are gone, _x000D__x000D_The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, _x000D__x000D_Have put their glory on.

Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light,_x000D__x000D_The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow,_x000D__x000D_Drops in a silent autumn night._x000D__x000D_All its allotted length of days_x000D__x000D_The flower ripens in its place,_x000D__x000D_Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil,_x000D__x000D_Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.

In the other gardens_x000D__x000D_And all up the vale,_x000D__x000D_From the autumn bonfies_x000D__x000D_See the smoke trail!_x000D__x000D_Pleasant summer over_x000D__x000D_And all the summer flowers,_x000D__x000D_The red fire blazes,_x000D__x000D_the grey smoke towers._x000D__x000D_Sing a song of seasons!_x000D__x000D_Something bright in all,_x000D__x000D_Flowers in the summer_x000D__x000D_Fires in the fall!

The falling leaves drift by the window The autumn leaves of red and gold.... I see your lips, the summer kisses The sunburned hands, I used to hold Since you went away, the days grow long And soon I'll hear ol' winter's song. But I miss you most of all my darling, When autumn leaves start to fall.

Listen! the wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves, we have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!

It was Indian summer, a bluebird sort of day as we call it in the north, warm and sunny, without a breath of wind; the water was sky-blue, the shores a bank of solid gold.

The general must be the first in the toils and fatigues of the army. In the heat of summer he does not spread his parasol nor in the cold of winter don thick clothing. In dangerous places he must dismount and walk. He waits until the army's wells have been dug and only then drinks; until the army's food is cooked before he eats; until the army's fortifications have been completed, to shelter himself.

Where today are the Pequot? Where are the Narragansett, the Mohican, the Pcanet, and other powerful tribes of our people? They have vanished before the avarice and oppression of the white man, as snow before the summer sun.

The quarrels of lovers are like summer storms. Everything is more beautiful when they have passed.