What I know best is the color of sun through my own eyelids.
Catalog
Quotes tagged ‘Summer Feels’
Summer vacation does kind of set up an adulthood of disappointment. That first job, you’re like, ‘I have to go to work in July? What is this, Russia?’
You have the scent of saltwater during the day from the humidity in the air and the fragrance of expensive perfumes and colognes that cling to my skin and my clothes, and I find your smell lingering everywhere I go.
Ah, the smell of salt and sad. There is no elixir on this blessed earth like it.
I have lived pain, and my life can tell: I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks the heavy perfume of wild roses in early July and the song of crickets on summer humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and all the good things th…
I have only to break into the tightness of a strawberry, and I see summer – its dust and lowering skies.
At these times, the things that troubled her seemed far away and unimportant: all that mattered was the hum of the bees and the chirp of birdsong, the way the sun gleamed on the edge of a blue wildflower, the distant bleat and clink of grazing goats.
Life, now, was unfolding before me, constantly and visibly, like the flowers of summer that drop fanlike petals on eternal soil.
In early June the world of leaf and blade and flowers explodes, and every sunset is different.
Now the windows, blinded by the glare of the empty square, had fallen asleep. The balconies declared their emptiness to heaven; the open doorways smelt of coolness and wine.
. . . prodigal summer, the season of extravagant procreation. It could wear out everything in its path with its passionate excesses, but nothing alive with wings or a heart or a seed curled into itself in the ground could resist welcoming it back when it came.
Summertime. It was a song. It was a season. I wondered if that season would ever live inside of me.
We thread our way through a moving forest of ice-cream cones and crimson thighs.
Summer is the time when one sheds one's tensions with one's clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all's right with the world.
I love how summer just wraps its arms around you like a warm blanket.
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 desti…