Summer Quotes

Summertime is a season of warmth and light — and sometimes rain and overheating. Many writers have pointed to the joys of summer, and some have used summer as a metaphor for joyful times of life.

There’s this magical sense of possibility that stretches like a bridge between June and August. A sense that anything can happen.

In June, as many as a dozen species may burst their buds on a single day. No man can heed all of these anniversaries; no man can ignore all of them.

People don’t notice whether it’s winter or summer when they’re happy.

Summer is drawn blinds in Louisiana, long winds in Wyoming, shade of elms and maples in New England.

One swallow does not make a summer, neither does one fine day; similarly one day or brief time of happiness does not make a person entirely happy.

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.

Summertime. It was a song. It was a season. I wondered if that season would ever live inside of me.

Summer means happy times and good sunshine. It means going to the beach, enjoying the scenery, having fun with family and friends.

There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart.”

Summertime is always the best of what might be.

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.

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

Summer is singing with joy, and the beaches are inviting you with dancing waves.

Autumn teaches us a valuable lesson. During summer, all the green trees are beautiful. But there is no time of the year when the trees are more beautiful than when they are different colors. Diversity adds beauty to our world.

Cricket to us was more than play,
It was a worship in the summer sun.

I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.

If it could only be like this always – always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe…

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.

Each solstice is a domain of experience unto itself. At the Summer Solstice, all is green and growing, potential coming into being, the miracle of manifestation painted large on the canvas of awareness. At the Winter Solstice, the wind is cold, trees are bare and all lies in stillness beneath blankets of snow.

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

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

Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.

One must maintain a little bit of summer, even in the middle of winter.

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

Summertime and the livin’ is easy.

I love summertime more than anything else in the world. That is the only thing that gets me through the winter, knowing that summer is going to be there.

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

He who marvels at the beauty of the world in summer will find equal cause for wonder and admiration in winter.

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days – three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.

Cause a little bit of summer is what the whole year is about.

What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.

How often had that hydrant even been opened? Did you jet water through a car window, what, twice at best? Summer burned just a few afternoons long, in the end.

Sweet, sweet burn of sun and summer wind, and you my friend, my new fun thing, my summer fling.

I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.

Like a welcome summer rain, humor may suddenly cleanse and cool the earth, the air and you.

It’s always summer somewhere.

‘Come with me,’ Mom says.
To the library.
Books and summertime
go together.

It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

… and all at once, summer collapsed into fall …