Best 1928 quotes in «summer quotes» category

Your own self-will and anxiety, your hurry and labor, disturb your peace and prevent Me from working in you. Look at the little flowers, in the serene summer days; they quietly open their petals, and the sun shines into them with its gentle influences. So I will do for you, if you will yield yourself to me.

You see, women are like fires, like flames. Some women are like candles, bright and friendly. Some are like single sparks, or embers, like fireflies for chasing on summer nights. Some are like campfires, all light and heat for a night and willing to be left after. Some women are like hearthfires, not much to look at but underneath they are all warm red coal that burns a long, long while.

youth, balancing itself upon hope, is forever in extremes: its expectations are continually aroused only to be baffled, and disappointment, like a summer shower, is violent in proportion to its brevity.

You've got to go out on a limb sometimes because that's where the fruit is.

233Life is for the living and the dead, she said in a smile, And flashed me a bit of pale thigh in the summer time

You start seeing all of the athlete profiles on NBC, and whenever the Summer Olympics come up, I feel like I share the same experience with the Summer Olympians.

You usually find me writing what I like to think of as intelligent summer action and genre films.

You were a summer gift, one I'll always treasure. You were a dream I never wanted to wake up from. You opened my eyes to things I'll never really see. You're the best thing that will ever happen to me.

Adam thinks that you two are in an argument." My body zinged into alert mode. My mind didn't know what Mrs. Vader meant, but my body already did. Even Sean glanced over at her with a cautious look. "He does?" I asked faintly. "A bad one," she confirmed. "How could we be in a bad argument without me even knowing about it?

Adam ” Lori called loudly enough for me to hear her but not so loud that her voice would carry up to my mom in the marina office- or to her dad who might be listening from their screened porch facing the water. “I came over to get some tips from the boys about teaching Tammy and Rachel to board. Of course I did not come over here to see you. How could you think such a thing That would be disobedient.” I held up the wax. “For my own disobedience I have to buff the boat. Then I’m going for a jog.” She tilted her head. Probably her eyes widened but I couldn’t see them behind her sunglasses. I hated not being able to see her eyes. She asked “In this heat?” I didn’t mind jogging in the heat. The heat was a big friendly animal that liked to wrestle and only occasionally sat on me until I lost my breath. Anyway she was missing the point. I repeated carefully ”I am GOING for a JOG.” “I HEARD you the FIRST time ” she said. “It’s late afternoon in the middle of June. It’s ninety-five degrees out here.” “He means he’s GOING for a JOG” Rachel and Tammy said at the same time. “He’s GOING for a JOG.” Lori still didn’t get it. Normally her blondeness was one of the things I loved about her. At the moment not so much. Exasperated Cameron told her “Adam wants you to go for a jog too.” She said “Oh ” “If you two airheads have to hook up secretly for very long ” Sean said “you’re not going to make it.

After all, we were young. We were fourteen and fifteen, scornful of childhood, remote from the world of stern and ludicrous adults. We were bored, we were restless, we longed to be seized by any whim or passion and follow it to the farthest reaches of our natures. We wanted to live – to die – to burst into flame – to be transformed into angels or explosions. Only the mundane offended us, as if we secretly feared it was our destiny . By late afternoon our muscles ached, our eyelids grew heavy with obscure desires. And so we dreamed and did nothing, for what was there to do, played ping-pong and went to the beach, loafed in backyards, slept late into the morning – and always we craved adventures so extreme we could never imagine them. In the long dusks of summer we walked the suburban streets through scents of maple and cut grass, waiting for something to happen.

After all, you can't force a friendship.

A knife plunged into the center of summer. Air and terror, which become teeth together.

All I cared about that summer were suntans, beaches, boys and booze.

All seasons are spectacular.

All the season pale in comparison to the excitement and freedom of summer.It's the one time of the year when I can cut loose and feel like a kid again.Before the responsibilities,before the soul crushing pressure of trying to figure out my future.I can forget my crappy job;I can forget about my even crappier love life. Summer is my superpower.

All things are beautiful in the sacred time.

Along with the greening of May came the rain. Then the clouds disappeared and a soft pale lightness fell over the city, as if Kyoto had broken free of its tethers and lifted up toward the sun. The mornings were as dewy and verdant as a glass of iced green tea. The nights folded into pencil-gray darkness fragrant with white flowers. And everyone's mood seemed buoyant, happy, and carefree. When I wasn't teaching or studying tea kaiseki, I would ride my secondhand pistachio-green bicycle to favorite places to capture the fleeting lushness of Kyoto in a sketchbook. With a small box of Niji oil pastels, I would draw things that Zen pots had long ago described in words and I did not want to forget: a pond of yellow iris near a small Buddhist temple; a granite urn in a forest of bamboo; and a blue creek reflecting the beauty of heaven, carrying away a summer snowfall of pink blossoms. Sometimes, I would sit under the shade of a willow tree at the bottom of my street, doing nothing but listening to the call of cuckoos, while reading and munching on carrots and boiled egg halves smeared with mayonnaise and wrapped in crisp sheets of nori. Never before had such simple indulgences brought such immense pleasure.

And then it happens. He smiles. And his whole face unfastens like a window blowing open into the breeze, letting in the fresh air and sunshine.

And then, one fairy night, May became June.

And they left the mellow light of the dandelion wine and went upstairs to carry out the last few rituals of summer, for they felt that now the final day, the final night had come. As the day grew late they realized that for two or three nights now, porches had emptied early of their inhabitants. The air hard a different, drier smell and Grandma was talking of hot coffee instead of iced tea; the open, white-flutter-curtained windows were closing in the great bays; cold cuts were giving way to steamed beef. The mosquitos were gone from the porch, and surely when they abandoned the conflict the war with Time was really done, there was nothing for it but that humans also forsake the battleground.

Absolutely. No more pretending!

An Ashinabe "spring poem" translated by Gerald Vizenor: as my eyes look across the prairie i feel the summer in the spring

. . .and he has never given up his conviction that if you just try all the doors one of them is bound to be the Door into Summer. You know, I think he is right.

And in the depths of music, I didn’t find the answer, And again there was silence, and again the ghost of summer.

And just like a midsummer nights breeze, she ran away, into the moonlight, a fox, proud and strong. The lone wolf walked away, saddened she was gone.

Another atrocity of summer is soccer. When the Euro Cup is on, it brings out the worst in people. It turns them into ravaging beasts who complain when a team they like, which they have done nothing to deserve, slips from grace and loses the match. An old man sitting beside me at the cafe was watching the men watch the soccer rather than watch the soccer himself. He found their reactions more entertaining than the game. "All this stuff and nonsense over men kicking a ball," he groused. "And they don't do any of the work themselves." I told him, "We should just have wars. Then we would not need sports." He laughed and quite agreed with me.

Anything that lives here has to be just as harsh and determined as the sun, born of a fiery stubbornness that is either extremely brave or extremely stupid.

A person should always be willing to adjust for a rainy day. That was a good attitude in all of life, but was a reality to the way of life for those residing in Florida.

And the day inevitably comes when the scrapbook of summer, smeared with ice cream slurps and sweat stains, gives way to that new clean white notebook, spine unbroken, begging to be smudged with the enthusiasm of a number two pencil and a mind open to the possibilities.

A poor old Widow in her weeds Sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds; Not too shallow, and not too deep, And down came April -- drip -- drip -- drip. Up shone May, like gold, and soon Green as an arbour grew leafy June. And now all summer she sits and sews Where willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows, Teasle and pansy, meadowsweet, Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit; Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells; Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells; Like Oberon's meadows her garden is Drowsy from dawn to dusk with bees. Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs, And peeps at her garden with bright brown eyes; And all she has is all she needs -- A poor Old Widow in her weeds.

A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken.

And who thought it was a good idea to rent bicycles to Italian adolescent language students? If hell did exist, which Jackson was sure it did, it would be governed by a committee of fifteen-year-old Italian boys on bikes.

A smaller rocket cut across the sky, trailing smoke. It exploded in a red heart. "Awwwww!" said the crowd. "Upside down," said Sean. The heart was, indeed, upside down. It grew and grew, upside down, until it's lights trailed and faded. A bigger rocket exploded in bright golden sparks, and then came another red heart. "Upside down," said all the boys. Three explosions layered on top of one another, gold, blue, pink. Then still another red heart exploded, growing and growing before it faded. "Upside down," said everyone in the boat but me. My own heart expanded for Adam. I whispered, "I know what he meant.

A song she heard Of cold that gathers Like winter's tongue Among the shadows It rose like blackness In the sky That on volcano's Vomit rise A Stone of ruin From burn to chill Like black moonrise Her voice fell still...

As she always did, when she went over the dune and saw the waves crashing on the shore, her heart leapt inside her in excitement. She still had a love affair with the ocean.

As the season changes, we learn to adapt.

As they ran to the barn and began the careful climb up the steep ladder, Lily realized she had accidentally put on snow boots in her hurry. When they reached the top, the quiet hush of the still hayloft gave them that whisper-in-the-library feeling.

Astor smiles back. “Well, you deserve all the compliments I can give you.", Loving Summer by Kailin Gow

As we gather around the rough-hewn farm table made by my grandfather, I am reminded that my family has come together for generations in this same way. Summers were always our favorite times; we would eat outdoors under the shade of a tree - hand-rolled pasta with a sauce of fresh tomatoes and basil from the garden, cheese from my Aunt Carmella, olive oil sent by our cousin in Santa Margherita, and wine from our own jugs. After having our fill of food and laughter, we'd pluck ripe figs right off the trees, peel and eat them until the sun disappeared into the blue. I can still taste those summer days, and will always do everything in my power to re-create them.

A 'T' for Tess, a 'T' for Toby.

At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon.

August in Mississippi is different from July. As to heat, it is not a question of degree but of kind. July heat is furious, but in August the heat has killed even itself and lies dead over us.

Autumn stomps around outside the house like an annoying little sister, tapping on all the shutters, kicking up the piles of leaves you rake, pretending to howl like a wolf. But I'm glad she's here, so we can cuss at Summer together, pretending we don't even remember her name.

A violinist fiddled. With strings resined for winter. Summer's light splintered.

A voice said to me, in summer language: Dottie, you are blessed And I felt the yellow light of the sun eating my face

Aunt Sookie was right. This summer is going to be really different, a summer everyone will remember.", Loving Summer by Kailin Gow

Battery Park resonates with lust as the sun approaches its zenith. A primal impulse takes hold of the young couples strolling the gravel walkways, the newlyweds who have paused to admire DeModica’s bronze bull, the truant teens laid out on the cool grass. Maybe because all flesh tantalizes in the early summer, in the right light, or because, at this time of year, there is more flesh exposed, midriffs, cleavage, inner thighs, the park is suddenly transformed into a dynamo of panting and groping. This desire is not the tender affection of evening, the wistful intimacy of the twilight’s last gleam. It is raw, concupiscent hunger.

Beacon, beacon, lonesome on a hill— Waves run aground, pound ‘round, what a thrill! Water water everywhere crashes, Shore’s not lazy for it mashes, bashes….. Summer’s when tourists traipse o’er to see you, Offering to wipe-wash your dust and mildew; Summer painters place you with dinghy and gull, Historians have you as subject o’er which to mull. When feline Fog drifts gently or is heavy, Your bright light’s followed by boat bevy; And during those calm, clear days and nights You’re that upright nautical dream exciting tiny tykes.

Behold my Love which traveled by Sudden Days. I wash away my withered cold Hands to a Warm Embrace of You, My Eternal Summer!