summer

It's summer and time for wandering...

Every summer, like the roses, childhood returns.

When she remembered a summer it would be this one. When she remembered love it would be his.

I still remember the day my father took me to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books for the first time. It was the early summer of 1945, and we walked through the streets of a Barcelona trapped beneath ashen skies as dawn poured over Rambla de Santa Monica in a wreath of liquid copper.

Some of the best memories are made in flip flops.

It is easy to forget now, how effervescent and free we all felt that summer. Everything fades: the shimmer of gold over White Cove; the laughter in the night air; the lavender early morning light on the faces of skyscrapers, which had suddenly become so heroically tall. Every dawn seemed to promise fresh miracles, among other joys that are in short supply these days. And so I will try to tell you, while I still remember, how it was then, before everything changed-that final season of the era that roared.

The most obnoxious thing in the world is to listen to others drone on about how much they love the heat.I leaned over to one woman at the café, who was professing how at home she was in the sweltering rot of hell, and said, __f you enjoy the heat so much, marry it, honeymoon with it, and throw it off a cliff, to spare the rest of us the agony of having to listen to the joy of your wretched matrimony.__he laughed.I was completely serious.

There was something horribly depressing, she felt, about watching the weather report. That life could be planned like the perfect summer picnic drained it of spontaneity.

Pain was as much a part of this life as the summer and the winter and the rain, and there was no greater asshole than the one who believed you can cure it.

I looked at sky this morning and realized summer is almost gone which really made me sad because it doesn't seem as though its been here at all.

There are easy ways to bring back summer in the snowstorm