I know that if odour were visible, as colour is, I'd see the summer garden in rainbow clouds.
Just living is not enough... one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.
A late summer garden has a tranquility found no other time of the year.
Someone is sitting in the shade today because someone planted a tree a long time ago.
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.
Summer afternoon, summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.
Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.
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.
Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.
Remember that children, marriages, and flower gardens reflect the kind of care they get.
Gardening imparts an organic perspective on the passage of time.
There ought to be gardens for all months in the year, in which, severally, things of beauty may be then in season.
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.
I want it said of me by those who knew me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow.
It was a splendid summer morning and it seemed as if nothing could go wrong.
What a man needs in gardening is a cast-iron back, with a hinge in it.
A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing and mojito in your hand.
Blessed be the Lord for the beauty of summer and spring, for the air, the water, the verdure, and the song of birds.
Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain.
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.
We’ll meet again in Lvov, my love and I…” Tatiana hums, eating her ice cream, in our Leningrad, in jasmine June, near Fontanka, the Neva, the Summer Garden, where we are forever young.
To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—
Sometimes I wonder what I'm a-gonna do 'Cause there ain't no cure for the summertime blues.
People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
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