O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
Ye men of gloom and austerity, who paint the face of Infinite Benevolence with an eternal frown, read in the everlasting book, wide open to your view, the lesson it would teach. Its pictures are not in black and sombre hues, but bright and glowing tints; its music--save when ye drown it--is not in sighs and groans, but songs and cheerful sounds. Listen to the million voices in the summer air, and find one dismal as your own.
'T is now the summer of your youth. Time has not cropt the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.
From his cradle / He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; / Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; / Lofty and sour to them that loved him not, / But to those men who sought him, sweet as summer; / And to add greater honours to his age / Than man could give; he died fearing God.
But yonder comes the powerful king of day, Rejoicing in the east.
In long-drawn systole and long-drawn diastole must the period of faith alternate with the period of denial; must the vernal growth, the summer luxuriance of all opinions, spiritual representations and creations, be followed by and again follow the autumnal decay, the winter dissolution.
If adapted to the unique requirements of various regions and peoples of the world, such economic pluralism could have a greater global impact over the next fifty years than the collectivist economics of Marxism and neo-Marxism have had during the half century just past. [“New Directions for American Foreign Policy,”, Orbis , Summer 1969, Published by Foreign Policy Research Institute, University of Pennsylvania.]
But thy eternal summer shall not fade.
The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung. Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all except their sun is set.
We are reformers in spring and summer; in autumn and winter we stand by the old; reformers in the morning, conservers at night.
The dews of summer nights did fall, The moon, sweet regent of the sky, Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall And many an oak that grew thereby.
The best wines are produced when the summer is warm and dry, which makes the Bordeaux wine industry a likely beneficiary of global warming.
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; / Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading; / Lofty and sour to them that loved him not; / But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.
Chiefs who no more in bloody fights engage, But wise through time, and narrative with age, In summer-days like grasshoppers rejoice,-- A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.
So stands the statue that enchants the world, So bending tries to veil the matchless boast, The mingled beauties of exulting Greece.
Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer's queen.
With grave Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd A pillar of state; deep on his front engraven Deliberation sat, and public care; And princely counsel in his face yet shone, Majestic though in ruin: sage he stood, With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look Drew audience and attention still as night Or summer's noontide air.
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.
The lightning was the angel of the Lord; but it has pleased Providence, in these modern times, that science should make it the humble messenger of man, and we know that every flash that shimmers about the horizon on a summer's evening is determined by ascertainable conditions, and that its direction and brightness might, if our knowledge of these were great enough, have been calculated.
'T is just like a summer bird-cage in a garden,--the birds that are without despair to get in, and the birds that are within despair and are in a consumption for fear they shall never get out.
These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,-- Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
Tears of joy, like summer rain-drops, are pierced by sunbeams.
They must hunger in winter that will not work in summer.
The good die first, / And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust / Burn to the socket.
The olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.
The healthy man is the compliment of the seasons, and in winter summer is in his heart. There is the south!
In the early twenty-first century, as criminals figured out ways to monetize their malicious software through identity theft and other techniques, the number of new viruses began to soar. By 2015, the volume had become astonishing. In 2010, the German research institute AV-Test had assessed that there were forty-nine million strains of computer malware in the wild. By 2011, the antivirus company McAfee reported it was identifying two million new pieces of malware every month. In the summer of 2013, the cyber-security firm Kaspersky Lab reported it identified and isolated nearly 200,000 new malware samples every single day.
The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.
The meek-ey'd Morn appears, mother of dews.
To three life seems a summer sky: The first who has no mind to know The heights and depths of life below, Nor ever asks the reason why.
Sigh'd and look'd unutterable things.
Who so unworthy but may proudly deck him / With his fair-weather virtue, that exults / Glad o'er the summer main? The tempest comes, / The rough winds rage aloud; when from the helm / This virtue shrinks, and in a corner lies / Lamenting.
If I would know the love of my friend, I must see what it can do in the winter. So with the divine love. It is very easy for me to worship in the summer sunshine, when the melodies of life are in the air and the fruits of life are on the tree. But let the song of the bird cease, and the fruit of the tree fall; and will my heart still go on to sing? Will I stand in God's house by night? Will I love Him in His own night? Will I watch with Him even one hour in His Gethsemane? Will I help to bear His cross up the Via Dolorosa? My love has come to Him in His humiliation. My faith has found Him in His lowliness. My heart has recognized His majesty through His mean disguise, and I know at last that I desire not the gift, but the Giver. When I can stand in His house by night, I have accepted Him for Himself alone.--_George Matheson._
She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.
He stood beside a cottage lone And listened to a lute, One summer's eve, when the breeze was gone, And the nightingale was mute.
I say that the azure we see in the atmosphere is not its true colour, but is caused by warm moisture evaporated in minute and insensible atoms which the solar rays strike, rendering them luminous against the darkness of the infinite night of the fiery region which lies beyond and includes them. And this may be seen, as I saw it, by him who ascends Mounboso (Monte Rosa), a peak of the Alps which separates France from Italy. The base of this mountain gives birth to the four large rivers which in four different directions water the whole of Europe; and no mountain has its base at so great a height as this. It rises to such a height that it almost lifts itself up above the clouds; snow seldom falls on it, but only hail in summer, when the clouds are at their greatest height, and this hail is preserved there so that were it not for the absorption of the rising and falling clouds, which does not occur twice in an age, a great quantity of ice would be piled up there by the hail, which in the middle of July I found to be very considerable; and I saw above me the dark air, and the sun which struck the mountain shone far lighter than in the plains below, because a lesser quantity of atmosphere lay between the summit of the mountain and the sun.
Now you see that the hope and the desire of returning home to one's former state is like the desire of the moth for the light, and the man who, with constant yearning and joyful expectancy, awaits the new spring and the new summer, and every new month and the new year, and thinks that what he longs for is ever too late in coming, and does not perceive that he is longing for his own destruction. But this desire is the quintessence, the spirit, of the elements, which, finding itself captive in the soul of the human body, desires always to return to its giver. And I would have you know that this same desire is the quintessence which is inseparable from nature, and that man is the model of the world. And such is the supreme folly of man that he labours so as to labour no more, and life flies from him while he forever hopes to enjoy the goods which he has acquired at the price of great labour.
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
The kind refresher of the summer heats.--_Thomson._
'T is the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone.
There remains in the faces of women who are naturally serene and peaceful, and of those rendered so by religion, an after-spring, and later, an after-summer, the reflex of their most beautiful bloom.--_Richter._
A pleasing land of drowsyhed it was, Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, Forever flushing round a summer sky: There eke the soft delights that witchingly Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast, And the calm pleasures always hover'd nigh; But whate'er smack'd of noyance or unrest Was far, far off expell'd from this delicious nest.
Do what we can, summer will have its flies; if we go a-fishing, we must expect a wet coat.
Pleasures lie thickest where no pleasures seem; / There's not a leaf that falls upon the ground / But holds some joy of silence or of sound, / Some sprite begotten of a summer dream.
For many a day, and many a dreadful night, Incessant lab'ring round the stormy cape.
And Mecca saddens at the long delay.
Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall not we revenge?
~Winter.~--After summer ever more succeeds the barren winter with his nipping cold.--_Shakespeare._
Catch, then, oh catch the transient hour; Improve each moment as it flies! Life 's a short summer, man a flower; He dies--alas! how soon he dies!
Lay by, like ants, a little store, / For summer lasts not evermore.
Oh, call my brother back to me! / I cannot play alone; / The summer comes with flower and bee,--/ Where is my brother gone?
Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.
Thus with the year Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me; from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank Of Nature's works, to me expung'd and raz'd, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
There's a sweeter flower than e'er / Blush'd on the rosy spray, / A brighter star, a richer bloom, / Than e'er did western heaven illume / At close of summer day--/ 'Tis Love, the last best gift of Heaven.
I propose to fight it out on this line, if it takes all summer.
The external world of physics has … become a world of shadows. In removing our illusions we have removed the substance, for indeed we have seen that substance is one of the greatest of our illusions. … The sparsely spread nuclei of electric force become a tangible solid; their restless agitation becomes the warmth of summer; the octave of aethereal vibrations becomes a gorgeous rainbow. Nor does the alchemy stop here. In the transmuted world new significances arise which are scarcely to be traced in the world of symbols; so that it becomes a world of beauty and purpose — and, alas, suffering and evil. The frank realisation that physical science is concerned with a world of shadows is one of the most significant of recent advances.
Like summer friends, Flies of estate and sunneshine.
I know she’s new here. If not, she’s made some drastic, unfortunate transformation over the summer, because I’m more than aware of most of the people on this campus, and even if I wasn’t, I’d remember the girl who comes to school looking like an undead whore.
After all, reading is arguably a far more creative and imaginative process than writing; when the reader creates emotion in their head, or the colors of the sky during the setting sun, or the smell of a warm summer's breeze on their face, they should reserve as much praise for themselves as they do for the writer - perhaps more.
Who knows what beautiful and winged life, whose egg has been buried for ages under many concentric layers of woodenness in the dead dry life of society … may unexpectedly come forth … to enjoy its perfect summer life at last! … such is the character of that morrow which mere lapse of time can never make to dawn. … Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Oh, call my brother back to me! I cannot play alone: The summer comes with flower and bee,-- Where is my brother gone?
The good die first, And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust Burn to the socket.
Soldiers in peace are like chimneys in summer.
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; Lofty and sour to them that loved him not, But to those men that sought him sweet as summer.
A proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day.
I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.
The period of faith must alternate with the period of denial; the vernal growth, the summer luxuriance of all opinions, spiritual representations and creations must be followed by, and again follow, the autumnal decay, the winter dissolution.
In time, the hurt began to fade and it was easier to just let it go. At least I thought it was. But in every boy I met in the next few years, I found myself looking for you, and when the feelings got too strong, I'd write you another letter. But I never sent them for fear of what I might find. By then, you'd gone on with your life and I didn't want to think about you loving someone else. I wanted to remember us like we were that summer. I didn't ever want to lose that.
Ships dim-discover'd dropping from the clouds.
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.
In the early days of the world, the world was too full of wonders to require any other miracles. The whole world was a miracle and a revelation, there was no need for any special disclosure. At that time the heavens, the waters, the sun and moon, the stars of heaven, the showers and dew, the winds of God, fire and heat, winter and summer, ice and snow, nights and days, lightnings and clouds, the earth, the mountains and hills, the green things upon the earth, the wells, and seas and floods--all blessed the Lord, praised Him and magnified Him for ever. Can we imagine a more powerful revelation? Is it for us to say that for the children of men to join in praising and magnifying Him who revealed Himself in His own way in all the magnificence, the wisdom and order of nature, is mere paganism, polytheism, pantheism, and abominable idolatry? I have heard many blasphemies, I have heard none greater than this.
Hello babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. On the outside, babies, you've got a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies-"God damn it, you've got to be kind.
So fades a summer cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day; So dies a wave along the shore.
Falsely luxurious, will not man awake?
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams Beside a pumice isle in Bai?'s bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.
Rien ne peut arreter sa vigilante audace. / L'ete n'a point de feux, l'hiver n'a point de glace=--Nothing can check his watchful daring. For him the summer has no heat, the winter no ice.
Who stemm'd the torrent of a downward age.
Hic ver assiduum, atque alienis mensibus ?stas=--Here (in Italy) is ceaseless spring, and summer in months in which summer is alien.
Adversity, like winter weather, is of use to kill those vermin which the summer of prosperity is apt to produce and nourish.--_Arrowsmith._
~Reform.~--We are reformers in spring and summer; in autumn and winter we stand by the old--reformers in the morning, conservatives at night. Reform is affirmative, conservatism is negative; conservatism goes for comfort, reform for truth.--_Emerson._
When true hearts lie wither'd And fond ones are flown, Oh, who would inhabit This bleak world alone?
From morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,-- A summer's day; and with the setting sun Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.
All that happens is as usual and familiar as the rose in spring and the crop in summer.
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.
Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eyes by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild.
Thus with the year / Seasons return; but not to me returns / Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, / Or sight of vernal bloom or summer's rose, / Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; / But cloud instead, and ever-during dark / Surrounds me.
Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.
One swallow does not make a summer.
Non semper erit ?stas=--It will not always be summer.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the ground, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
~Bores.~--I am constitutionally susceptible of noises. A carpenter's hammer, in a warm summer's noon, will fret me into more than midsummer madness. But those unconnected, unset sounds are nothing to the measured malice of music.--_Lamb._
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought, And Wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.
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.
The bud is on the bough again, The leaf is on the tree.
Can such things be, / And overcome us like a summer's cloud, / Without our special wonder?
A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate Of mighty monarchs.
You just call out my name And you know wherever I am I'll come runnin' to see you again Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall, All you have to do is call And I'll be there You've got a friend.
'Tis now the summer of your youth; time has not cropt the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them. Then use your beauty wisely; and, freed by injuries, fly from the cruellest of men, for shelter with the kindest.
Woman's grief is like a summer storm, short as it is violent.
The quarrels of lovers are like summer storms. Everything is more beautiful when they have passed.--_Mme. Necker._
Catch, then, O catch the transient hour; / Improve each moment as it flies; / Life's a short summer--man a flower--/ He dies--alas! how soon he dies!
The forests in summer days are full of birds' nests. They are hidden among the leaves. The little birds know where they are; and when a storm arises, or when night draws on, they fly, each to his own nest. So the promises of God are hidden in the Bible, like nests in the great forests; and thither we should fly in any danger or alarm, hiding there in our soul's nest until the storm be overpast. There are no castles in this world so impregnable as the words of Christ.--_J. R. Miller._
Shall we not have reason to conclude, that other planets besides our own are inhabited by living creatures? All the planets resemble our earth; like it enjoy the light and genial warmth of the sun, have the alternation of night and day, and the succession of summer and winter: but what end would all these phenomena answer unless the planets were inhabited? Considering them as so many peopled worlds, what a sublime idea we conceive of the grandeur of God, and the extent of his empire! How impossible to fathom his bounty, or penetrate the limits of his power! His glory, reflected from so many worlds, tills us with amaze, and calls forth every sentiment of awe, veneration and gratitude. Supposing that his praise is celebrated in all the worlds which roll above and round us, let us not be surpassed in our adoration, but in holy emulation mingle our hymns with those of the inhabitants of these numerous worlds, and celebrate the Lord God of the universe with eternal thanksgiving!