In June, as many as a dozen species may burst their buds on a single day. No man can heed all of these anniversaries; no man can ignore all of them.
—Aldo Leopold (1887–1948) American Ecologist, Conservationist
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
—Wallace Stevens (1879–1955) American Poet
Summer makes a silence after spring.
—Vita Sackville-West (1892–1962) English Gardener, Author, Poet
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.
—Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–94) Scottish Novelist
Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.
I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.
—Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892–1950) American Poet, Playwright, Feminist
It will not always be summer: build barns.
—Hesiod (f.700 BCE) Greek Poet
One swallow does not make a summer.
Summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.
—Henry James (1843–1916) American-born British Novelist, Writer
A life without love is like a year without summer.
In summer, the song sings itself.
—William Carlos Williams (1883–1963) American Poet, Novelist, Cultural Historian
There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart.
—Celia Thaxter (1835–94) American Poet, Writer
Do what we can, summer will have its flies.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–82) American Philosopher
To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie -True Poems flee.
—Emily Dickinson (1830–86) American Poet
People don’t notice whether it’s winter or summer when they’re happy.
—Anton Chekhov (1860–1904) Russian Short-Story Writer
Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.
—Russell Baker (1925–2019) American Journalist, Humorist, Television Host
The tendinous part of the mind, so to speak, is more developed in winter; the fleshy, in summer. I should say winter has given the bone and sinew to literature, summer the tissues and blood.
—John Burroughs (1837–1921) American Naturalist, Writer
In the depth of winter I finally learned there was inside me an invincible summer.
—Albert Camus (1913–60) Algerian-born French Philosopher, Dramatist, Essayist, Novelist, Author
Summer set lip to earth’s bosom bare,
And left the flushed print in a poppy there.
—Francis Thompson (1859–1907) English Poet, Ascetic
Summer has set in with its usual severity.
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834) English Poet, Literary Critic, Philosopher