Quotes
Quotes about Summer
To happy folk
All heaviest words no more of meaning bear
Than far-off bells saddening the Summer air.
The summer day was spoiled with fitful storm;
At night the wind died and the soft rain dropped;
With lulling murmur, and the air was warm,
And all the tumult and the trouble stopped.
What is more cheerful, now, in the fall of the year, than an open-wood-fire? Do you hear those little chirps and twitters coming out of that piece of apple-wood? Those are the ghosts of the robins and blue-birds that sang upon the bough when it was in blossom last Spring. In Summer whole flocks of them come fluttering about the fruit-trees under the window: so I have singing birds all the year round.
Before the beginning of years
There came to the making of man
Time with a gift of tears,
Grief with a glass that ran,
Pleasure with pain for leaven,
Summer with flowers that fell,
Remembrance fallen from heaven,
And Madness risen from hell,
Strength without hands to smite,
Love that endures for a breath;
Night, the shadow of light,
And Life, the shadow of death.
But when a snowflake, brave and meek,
Lights on a rosy maiden's cheek,
It starts--"How warm and soft the day!"
"'T is summer!" and it melts away.
From the winter's gray despair,
From the summer's golden languor,
Death, the lover of Life,
Frees us for ever.
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
The people blossoms armies and puts forth
The splendid summer of its noiseless might.
Go down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time;
Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it is n't far from London!)
And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonder-land;
Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it is n't far from London!)
My life is like the summer rose
That opens to the morning sky,
But ere the shades of evening close
Is scattered on the ground--to die.
Antiphanes said merrily, that in a certain city the cold was so intense that words were congealed as soon as spoken, but that after some time they thawed and became audible; so that the words spoken in winter were articulated next summer.
All that happens is as usual and familiar as the rose in spring and the crop in summer.
So a useless truth obtrudes on to a most ravishing lie. I would say finally that, as the earth turns and the truth of summer and the lie of winter interchange, so the bulky ball of history revolves, and what a man dies for may become the thing that dies for him.
Love water, love it will all your being, but only from the well or the picnic spring. Tasteless but grateful in summer, embracing the hollow of any vessel. But never follow water to the river or sea.
Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.
The quarrels of lovers are like summer storms. Everything is more beautiful when they have passed.
The Ants and the Grasshopper THE ANTS were spending a fine winter's day drying grain collected in the summertime. A Grasshopper, perishing with famine, passed by and earnestly begged for a little food. The Ants inquired of him, Why did you not treasure up food during the summer?' He replied, I had not leisure enough. I passed the days in singing. They then said in derision: If you were foolish enough to sing all the summer, you must dance supperless to bed in the winter. It is thrifty to prepare today for the wants of tomorrow.
The Ant and the Chrysalis An Ant nimbly running about in the sunshine in search of food came across a Chrysalis that was very near its time of change. The Chrysalis moved its tail, and thus attracted the attention of the Ant, who then saw for the first time that it was alive. Poor, pitiable animal! cried the Ant disdainfully. What a sad fate is yours! While I can run hither and thither, at my pleasure, and, if I wish, ascend the tallest tree, you lie imprisoned here in your shell, with power only to move a joint or two of your scaly tail. The Chrysalis heard all this, but did not try to make any reply. A few days after, when the Ant passed that way again, nothing but the shell remained. Wondering what had become of its contents, he felt himself suddenly shaded and fanned by the gorgeous wings of a beautiful Butterfly. Behold in me, said the Butterfly, your much-pitied friend! Boast now of your powers to run and climb as long as you can get me to listen. So saying, the Butterfly rose in the air, and, borne along and aloft on the summer breeze, was soon lost to the sight of the Ant forever. Appearances are deceptive.
The Ant and the Grasshopper In a field one summer's day a Grasshopper was hopping about, chirping and singing to its heart's content. An Ant passed by, bearing along with great toil an ear of corn he was taking to the nest. Why not come and chat with me, said the Grasshopper, instead of toiling and moiling in that way? I am helping to lay up food for the winter, said the Ant, and recommend you to do the same. Why bother about winter? said the Grasshopper; we have got plenty of food at present. But the Ant went on its way and continued its toil. When the winter came the Grasshopper had no food and found itself dying of hunger, while it saw the ants distributing every day corn and grain from the stores they had collected in the summer. Then the Grasshopper knew: It is best to prepare for the days of necessity.
The Lion, the Mouse, and the Fox A lion, fatigued by the heat of a summer's day, fell fast asleep in his den. A Mouse ran over his mane and ears and woke him from his slumbers. He rose up and shook himself in great wrath, and searched every corner of his den to find the Mouse. A Fox seeing him said: A fine Lion you are, to be frightened of a Mouse. 'Tis not the Mouse I fear, said the Lion; I resent his familiarity and ill-breeding. Little liberties are great offenses.
Look up! the wide extended plain Is billowy with its ripened grain, And on the summer winds are rolled Its waves of emerald and gold.
In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ'd The Kings and awful Fathers of mankind: And some, with whom compared your insect-tribes Are but the beings of a summer's day, Have held the Scale of Empire, ruled the Storm Of mighty War; then, with victorious hand, Disdaining little delicacies, seized The Plough, and, greatly independent, scorned All the vile stores corruption can bestow.
Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls. Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in; Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in, Dresses in which to do nothing at all; Dresses for Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall; All of them different in color and shape. Silk, muslin, and lace, velvet, satin, and crape, Brocade and broadcloth, and other material, Quite as expensive and much more ethereal.
From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him; Yet nor the lays of birds, not the sweet smell Of different flowers in odor and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, As with your shadow I with these did play.
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods, And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt, And night by night the monitory blast Wails in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes, Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods Than any joy indulgent Summer dealt.
