Summertime Quotes

Quotes tagged as "summertime" (showing 1-30 of 35)
André Aciman
“They are embossed on every song that was a hit that summer, in every novel I read during and after his stay, on anything from the smell of rosemary on hot days to the frantic rattle of the cicadas in the afternoon—smells and sounds I’d grown up with and known every year of my life until then but that had suddenly turned on me and acquired an inflection forever colored by the events of that summer.”
André Aciman, Call Me by Your Name

Kellie Elmore
“Some of the best memories are made in flip flops.”
Kellie Elmore

Ray Bradbury
“And there, row upon row, with the soft gleam of flowers opened at morning, with the light of this June sun glowing through a faint skin of dust, would stand the dandelion wine. Peer through it at the wintry day - the snow melted to grass, the trees were reinhabitated with bird, leaf, and blossoms like a continent of butterflies breathing on the wind. And peering through, color sky from iron to blue.

Hold summer in your hand, pour summer in a glass, a tiny glass of course, the smallest tingling sip for children; change the season in your veins by raising glass to lip and tilting summer in”
Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

Ray Bradbury
“The grass whispered under his body. He put his arm down, feeling the sheath of fuzz on it, and, far away, below, his toes creaking in his shoes. The wind sighed over his shelled ears. The world slipped bright over the glassy round of his eyeballs like images sparked in a crystal sphere. Flowers were sun and fiery spots of sky strewn through the woodland. Birds flickered like skipped stones across the vast inverted pond of heaven. His breath raked over his teeth, going in ice, coming out fire. Insects shocked the air with electric clearness. Ten thousand individual hairs grew a millionth of an inch on his head. He heard the twin hearts beating in each ear, the third heart beating in his throat, the two hearts throbbing his wrists, the real heart pounding his chest. The million pores on his body opened.
I'm really alive! he thought. I never knew it before, or if I did I don't remember!”
Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

Shannon Celebi
“All I cared about that summer were suntans, beaches, boys and booze.”
Shannon Celebi, Small Town Demons

E.B. White
“Summertime, oh, summertime, pattern of life indelible, the fade-proof lake, the woods unshatterable, the pasture with the sweetfern and the juniper forever and ever . . . the cottages with their innocent and tranquil design, their tiny docks with the flagpole and the American flag floating against the white clouds in the blue sky, the little paths over the roots of the trees leading from camp to camp. This was the American family at play, escaping the city heat.”
E.B. White

Charles Frazier
“Back then, he'd have to leave at the end of August for the start of school, so the week before Labor Day became it's own tiny season of gloom, like a hundred Sunday nights crowded together.”
Charles Frazier

Susan Ornbratt
“It was enough to remember the honeyed feeling of summer.”
Susan Ornbratt, The Particular Appeal of Gillian Pugsley

Carlos Ruiz Zafón
“(...)where tourists and people from the city came in search of sand, sun and expensive forms of boredome.”
Carlos Ruiz Zafón, Watcher in the Shadows

Sarina Bowen
“Summer’s a total cocktease.” He shrugs, repeating himself. “It always ends.” He’s right about that. Summer always ends.”
Sarina Bowen, Him

J.M. Coetzee
“A Favorite start to a book [sorry it's long!]:

"In yesterday’s Sunday Times, a report from Francistown in Botswana. Sometime last week, in the middle of the night, a car, a white American model, drove up to a house in a residential area. Men wearing balaclavas jumped out, kicked down the front door, and began shooting. When they had done with shooting they set fire to the house and drove off. From the embers the neighbors dragged seven charred bodies: two men, three women, two children.
Th killers appeared to be black, but one of the neighbors heard them speaking Afrikaans among themselves. And was convinced they were whites in blackface. The dead were South Africans, refugees who had moved into the house mere weeks ago.
Approached for comment, the SA Minister of Foreign Affairs, through a spokesman, calls the report ‘unverified’. Inquiries will be undertaken, he says, to determine whether the deceased were indeed SA citizens. As for the military, an unnamed source denies that the SA Defence Force had anything to do with the matter. The killings are probably an internal ANC matter, he suggests, reflecting ‘ongoing tensions between factions.
So they come out, week after week, these tales from the borderlands, murders followed by bland denials. He reads the reports and feels soiled. So this is what he has come back to! Yet where in the world can one hide where one will not feel soiled? Would he feel any cleaner in the snows of Sweden, reading at a distance about his people and their latest pranks?
How to escape the filth: not a new question. An old rat-question that will not let go, that leaves its nasty, suppurating wound. Agenbite of inwit.
‘I see the Defense Force is up to its old tricks again,’ he remarks to his father. ‘In Botswana this time.’ But his father is too wary to rise to the bait. When his father picks up the newspaper, he cares to skip straight to the sports pages, missing out the politics—the politics and the killings.
His father has nothing but disdain for the continent to the north of them. Buffoons is the word he uses to dismiss the leaders of African states: petty tyrants who can barely spell their own names, chauffeured from one banquet to another in their Rolls-Royces, wearing Ruritanian uniforms festooned with medals they have awarded themselves. Africa: a place of starving masses with homicidal buffoons lording over them.
‘They broke into a house in Francistown and killed everyone,’ he presses on nonetheless. ‘Executed them .Including the children. Look. Read the report. It’s on the front page.’
His father shrugs. His father can find no form of words spacious enough to cover his distaste for, on one hand, thugs who slaughter defenceless women and children and, on the other, terrorists who wage war from havens across the border. He resolves the problem by immersing himself in the cricket scores. As a response to moral dilemma it is feeble; yet is his own response—fits of anger and despair—any better?"
Summertime, Coetzee”
J.M. Coetzee

Moonshine Noire
“we met one strange summer

in a regular tangle of sticky webs

you had the air of angels sweet but I--

drowned with the damned spirits

in lava oceans fearing your--

foreign static frequency

and grey-green eyes

(I swear they are even if you--

think otherwise): storms

calm ones, calmer than my--

raging coals, empty and dead

you speak of souls like you believe

always an optimist in pessimistic

skin of ivory and titanium mesh...”
Moonshine Noire

Susan Wiggs
“This time of year, the purple blooms were busy with life- not just the bees, but butterflies and ladybugs, skippers and emerald-toned beetles, flitting hummingbirds and sapphire dragonflies. The sun-warmed sweet haze of the blossoms filled the air.
"When I was a kid," said Isabel, "I used to capture butterflies, but I was afraid of the bees. I'm getting over that, though." The bees softly rose and hovered over the flowers, their steady hum oddly soothing. The quiet buzzing was the soundtrack of her girlhood summers. Even now, she could close her eyes and remember her walks with Bubbie, and how they would net a monarch or swallowtail butterfly, studying the creature in a big clear jar before setting it free again. They always set them free.
As she watched the activity in the hedge, a memory floated up from the past- Bubbie, gently explaining to Isabel why they needed to open the jar. "No creature should ever be trapped against its will," she used to say. "It will ruin itself, just trying to escape." As a survivor of a concentration camp, Bubbie only ever spoke of the experience in the most oblique of terms.”
Susan Wiggs, The Beekeeper's Ball

Eudora Welty
“They could play an endless game of hide-and -seek in so many rooms and up and down the halls that intersected and turned into dead-end porches and rooms full of wax begonias and elephant's- ears, or rooms full of trunks. She remembered the nights--the moon vine, the everblooming Cape jessamines, the verbena smelling under running feet, the lateness of dancers.”
Eudora Welty, Delta Wedding / The Ponder Heart

William H. Gass
“...until summer becomes ein Zimmer in einem Traum -- a room in a dream.”
William H. Gass, Reading Rilke: Reflections on the Problems of Translation

“A sweet summer time and glorified affair ..”
Imran Shaikh

J.M. Coetzee
“The path that leads through Latin and alebra is not the path to material success. But it may suggest much more: that understanding things is a waste of time; that if you want to succeed in the world and have a happy family and a nice home and a BMW you should not try to understand things but just add up the numbers or press the buttons or do whatever else it is that marketers are so richly rewarded for doing.”
J.M. Coetzee, Summertime

Chelsey Philpot
“The hours were long, but the days were short, and as much as I willed it to never come, the end of summer arrived anyway.”
Chelsey Philpot, Even in Paradise

Mehmet Murat ildan
“Don’t forget the snow in the summertime, because you will meet him again when the summer is over!”
Mehmet Murat ildan

Sofi Benitez
“Summer had a way of being full of fun and things to do and plenty of times of doing nothing and feeling bored.”
Sofi Benitez, Honey Moon Dog Daze

Puji Eka Lestari
“Every summer has it's own story.”
Puji Eka Lestari, Dear Ellie

Ray Bradbury
“Утро было тихое, город, окутанный тьмой, мирно нежился в постели.
Пришло лето, и ветер был летний — теплое дыхание мира, неспешное и ленивое. Стоит лишь встать, высунуться в окошко, и тотчас поймешь: вот она начинается, настоящая свобода и жизнь, вот оно, первое утро лета.”
Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“Summers end to soon just as childhood ends before we apprehend the effervescent of our youth.”
Kilroy J. Oldster, Dead Toad Scrolls

“Summertime is a period for youthful explorations, a joyful time when we learn lessons without grand expectations or harsh consequences.”
Kilroy J. Oldster, Dead Toad Scrolls

Brittney Joy
“Lucky for me, all four of his hooves missed my body as they found the ground. I picked my head up, thankful I didn't get stomped, and watched the steer run off along the fence. Mental note: cows are not like horses. Don't let the big brown eyes fool you.”
Brittney Joy, Lucy's Chance

John Cheever
“Each year, we rent a house at the edge of the sea and drive there in the first of the summer—with the dog and cat, the children, and the cook—arriving at a strange place a little before dark. The journey to the sea has its ceremonious excitements, it has gone on for so many years now, and there is the sense that we are, as in our dreams we have always known ourselves to be, migrants and wanderers—travelers, at least, with a traveler’s acuteness of feeling." --from "“The Seaside Houses”
John Cheever, The Stories of John Cheever

Nanette L. Avery
“Summer… when fireflies come out at dusk and ice melts too fast in lemonade; ice cream tastes better even though it’s the same-old flavor.”
Nanette L. Avery

Bruno Schulz
“U julu je moj otac odlazio u banju i ostavljao me s majkom i starijim bratom na milost i nemilost letnjih dana belih od žege i onesvešćujućih. Prevrtali smo, ošamućeni svetlom, tu veliku knjigu raspusta, čiji su svi listovi goreli sjajem i imali na dnu opojno slatko meso zlatnih krušaka.

Adela se vraćala u svetla jutra, kao Pomona iz vatre užarenog dana, prosipajući iz kotarice šarenu lepotu sunca – sjajne trešnje, pune vode ispod prozračne kožice, crne višnje, čiji je miris prelazio ono što se ostvarivalo u ukusu; kajsije, u čijem se zlatnom mesu nalazila srž dugih popodneva; a pored te čiste poezije voća istovarivala je komađe mesa sa klavijaturom telećih rebara nabreklih snagom i hranljivošću, alge povrća, kao ubijene sepije i meduze – sirovi materijal ručka sa još neformiranim i jalovim ukusom, vegetativne i zemaljske primese koje su mirisale divljinom i poljem.

Kroz tamni stan na prvom spratu zidane zgrade na trgu svaki dan je skroz prolazilo leto: tišina drhtavih vazdušnih slojeva, kvadrati svetla koji su na podu snivali svoj strasni san; melodija vergla izvučena iz najdublje zlatne žile dana; dva-tri takta refrena, koji je, sviran negde na klaviru, stalno iznova, malaksavao na suncu na belim pločicama, izgubljen u vatri dubokog dana. Pospremivši, Adela je pravila hlad u sobama navlačeći platnene zavese. Tada su se boje spuštale za oktavu dublje, senka je ispunjavala sobu, kao utonulu u svetlost morske dubine, ogledajući se još mutnije u zelenim zrcalima, a sva žega dana se odmarala na zavesama koje su se lako talasale od sanjarija podnevnih sati.

Subotom popodne izlazio sam s majkom u šetnju. Iz polumraka trema ulazilo se odmah u sunčano kupanje dana. Prolaznici, hodajući u zlatu, imali su oči sužene od žege, kao slepljene medom, a malo podignuta gornja usna otkrivala im je desni i zube. I svi koji su hodali tog zlaćanog dana imali su tu grimasu žege, kao da je sunce svim svojim pristalicama bilo stavilo istu masku – zlatnu masku sunčanog bratstva, i svi, koji su danas išli ulicama, susreli su se, mimoilazili, stari i mladi, deca i žene, pozdravljali su se u prolazu tom maskom, naslikanom debelom, zlatnom bojom na licu, kezili su se jedni na druge tom bahantskom grimasom – varvarskom maskom paganskog kulta.”
Bruno Schulz, Prodavnice cimetove boje

Lailah Gifty Akita
“Summer brings sunshine, warm and flowering.”
Lailah Gifty Akita

Wataru Watari
“When you tell someone to dress for unhindered movement, going naked seems like the best option to me.”
Wataru Watari, やはり俺の青春ラブコメはまちがっている 4

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