summer
There is no word in the language for end-of-summer sadness, but the human spirit has a word for it and picks up the first sound of its approach.
“Cold Weather,” in One Man’s Meat (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1944), 349.
Heat, like an article of invisible clothing, makes us want to take it off.
The Book of Disquiet (New York: Pantheon Books, 1991), 43.
You did not hear them coming. You hardly heard them go. The grass bent down, sprang up again. They passed like cloud shadows downhill … the boys of summer, running.
Dandelion Wine (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1978), 21.
Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.
Recounted by Edith Wharton in A Backward Glance (New York: D. Appleton-Century Company, 1934), 249.