A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken. – James Dent
Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. – Henry James
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. – F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance. – Bern Williams
Sun is shining. Weather is sweet. Make you wanna move your dancing feet. – Bob Marley
What is one to say about June, the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade. – Gertrude Jekyll
When I was a little kid, of course, I was brown all summer. That’s because I was free as a bird- nothing to do but catch bugs all day. – Roy Blount Jr.
There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart. – Celia Thaxter
The summer night is like a perfection of thought. – Wallace Stevens
In summer, the song sings itself. – William Carlos Williams
Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability. – Sam Keen
People don’t notice whether it’s winter or summer when they’re happy. – Anton Chekhov
Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time. – John Lubbock
Each fairy breath of summer, as it blows with loveliness, inspires the blushing rose. – Author Unknown
Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer’s year – it brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul. – Author Unknown
Then followed that beautiful season… Summer….
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I drifted into a summer-nap under the hot shade of July, serenaded by a cicadae lullaby, to drowsy-warm dreams of distant thunder. – Terri Guillemets
