#summer

So I majored in Drama, did all the plays that were possible to do, skated through school in order to be in every production on stage or backstage in whatever capacity and I came to New York looking for work in the summers. ↗

— Linda Lavin

#came #capacity #did #drama #every

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. ↗

— Natalie Babbitt

#summer #spring

I found my mind wandering at games; loved boxing and was good at it; and in summer, having chosen rowing instead of cricket, lay peacefully by the Stour, well upstream of the rhythmic creaking and the exhortation, reading Lily Christine and Gibbon and gossiping with kindred lotus-eaters under the willow-branches. ↗

— Patrick Leigh Fermor

#leisure #school #summer #love

In the morning light, I remembered how much I loved the sound of wind through the trees. I laid back and closed my eyes, and I was comforted by the sound of a million tiny leaves dancing on a summer morning. ↗

— Patrick Carman

#dancing #light #morning #remember #summer

Should I have a doughnut or my disgusting cardboard?” asked Gwynn, as she drew up languidly before me at a study table in a bookstore on State Street, raising a puffed rice cake in the air. My eyes narrowed attentively at her face, but as I hesitated, she announced eagerly, “Disgusting cardboard it is! ↗

— Daniel Amory

#city #downtown #dream #food #law-school

What do you know? This is where it all began,” he said. “Began?” “This is exactly where I was when I wanted to kiss you,” he whispered, his lips brushing along my neck causing me to melt under his touch. “So bad.” “Except this time there’s no drunk netballer squawking at us,” I teased. “I wouldn’t care if the seven horseman of the Apocalypse charged through the garden right now, nothing’s gonna stop me from doing this.” He leaned down and captured my lips with tenderness, a completely perfect kiss, like it always was. ↗

— C.J. Duggan

#romance #summer #young-adult #apocalypse

Dad" I pleaded, "this is so [cuss word you never, ever say in front of your mother] ridiculous. ↗

— Jennifer Echols

#humor #jennifer-echols #romance #summer #humor

This is worse than Hollywood, he thought. A girl comes in with a pork chop and I write a song for her. ↗

— Eva Ibbotson

#humor #marek #song-for-summer #humor

The summer ended. Day by day, and taking its time, the summer ended. The noises in the street began to change, diminish, voices became fewer, the music sparse. Daily, blocks and blocks of children were spirited away. Grownups retreated from the streets, into the houses. Adolescents moved from the sidewalk to the stoop to the hallway to the stairs, and rooftops were abandoned. Such trees as there were allowed their leaves to fall - they fell unnoticed - seeming to promise, not without bitterness, to endure another year. At night, from a distance, the parks and playgrounds seemed inhabited by fireflies, and the night came sooner, inched in closer, fell with a greater weight. The sound of the alarm clock conquered the sound of the tambourine, the houses put on their winter faces. The houses stared down a bitter landscape, seeming, not without bitterness, to have resolved to endure another year. ↗

— James Baldwin

#seasons #summer #change

Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad? ↗

— Dodie Smith

#mist #summer #romantic