End Of Summer Rituals Quotes

Across a golden Autumn tapestry appear the spirits of our ancient selves demanding recognition and reward for one haunted night. Sated, they retreat from winter's onslaught and retire to subconscious hibernation for another twelvemonth. ~ Stewart Stafford

Labor Day. We could hear their bellow and grind from the Route 19 overpass. Below, the river gleamed like a flaw in metal. Leaving the parking lot behind, we billy-goated down the fisherman's trail, one by one, the way all mountain people do. Loud clumps of bees clustered in the fireweed and boneset, and the trail underfoot crunched with cans, condom wrappers, worm containers. A half-buried coal bucket rose from the dirt with a galvanized grin. The laurel hell wove itself into a tunnel, hazy with gnats. There, a busted railroad spike. The smell of river water filled our noses. ~ Matthew Neill Null

Because he sees horizons when the others can barely see as far as the end of their own noses. ~ Elizabeth Chadwick The Summer Queen

I come from down south, where vegetation does not know its place. Honeysuckle can work through cracks in your walls and strangle you while you sleep. Kudzu can completely shroud a house and a car parked in the yard in one growing season. Wisteria can lift a building off its foundation, and certain terrifying mints spread so rapidly that just the thought of them on a summer night can make your hair stand on end. ~ Bailey White

I am not breaking my rules,' I snapped, hating that I'd ended up on the advice-recieving end of things, jumping from Dear Remy to Confused in Cincinnati all in one summer. ~ Sarah Dessen

To the most inconsiderate asshole of a friend,
I'm writing you this letter because I know that if I say what I have to say
to your face I will probably punch you.
I don't know you anymore.
I don't see you anymore.
All I get is a quick text or a rushed e-mail from you every few days. I
know you are busy and I know you have Bethany, but hello? I'm supposed to
be your best friend.
You have no idea what this summer has been like. Ever since we were
kids we pushed away every single person that could possibly have been our
friend. We blocked people until there was only me and you. You probably
haven't noticed, because you have never been in the position I am in now.
You have always had someone. You always had me. I always had you. Now
you have Bethany and I have no one.
Now I feel like those other people that used to try to become our friend,
that tried to push their way into our circle but were met by turned backs. I
know you're probably not doing it deliberately just as we never did it deliberately.
It's not that we didn't want anyone else, it's just that we didn't need
them. Sadly now it looks like you don't need me anymore.
Anyway I'm not moaning on about how much I hate her, I'm just trying
to tell you that I miss you. And that well . . . I'm lonely.
Whenever you cancel nights out I end up staying home with Mum and
Dad watching TV. It's so depressing. This was supposed ~ Cecelia Ahern

How many rooms does it have?"

"Five hundred eighty-seven, not including the staff bedrooms." He leans up and licks the shell of my ear, making the wet and quivering plan come to fruition. His next words almost make me come on the spot. "And I want to fuck you in every one of them by the end of the summer."

"That's ambitious," I tease, nuzzling him. "Do you plan on stopping to feed me?"

His hand skims down my back, cradling my ass. "You'll be well taken care of, I promise."

I promise. You know what that is? Yep - Famous. Last. Words. ~ Emma Chase

It was one of the warm nights at the end of summer that makes promises that won't be kept. ~ Cinda Williams Chima

George always said the first summer of the Rising was possibly the best example of human nobility that history had to offer, because for just a few months, before the accusations started flying and the fingers started pointing, we really were one people, united against one enemy. And we fought. We fought for the right to live, and in the end, we won. Sort of, anyway. ~ Mira Grant

When I was little, I had a feeling that I was going to end up being an actress. I spent a lot of time alone, I was a very shy girl, and I would pretend I was telling someone about this new role that I got. ~ Summer Glau

So the Inca Trail isn't just a pretty shortcut that Pachacutec took on his way to his summer home?" "Mark, you can't finish the Inca Trail and not know that this was the end point of a pilgrimage. ~ Mark Adams

Mandy tidied the weeds and pulled out some of the summer flowers. It saddened her to do so. She was parting with beloved friends. ~ Julie Andrews Edwards

Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the Stooks arise Around; up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behavior Of silk-sack clouds! Has wilder, willful-waiver Meal-drift molded ever and melted across skies? ~ Gerard Manley Hopkins

An oceanic expanse of pre-dawn gray white below obscures a checkered grid of Saskatchewan, a snow plain nicked by the dark, unruly lines of woody swales. One might imagine that little is to be seen from a plane at night, but above the clouds the Milky Way is a dense, blazing arch. A full moon often lights the planet freshly, and patterns of human culture, artificially lit, are striking in ways not visible in daylight. One evening I saw the distinctive glows of cities around Delhi diffused like spiral galaxies in a continuous deck of stratus clouds far below us. In Algeria and on the Asian steppes, wind-whipped pennants of gas flared. The jungle burned in incandescent spots in Malaysia and Brazil. One clear evening at 20,000 feet over Manhattan, I could see, it seemed, every streetlight halfway to the end of Long Island. A summer lightning bolt unexpectedly revealed thousands of bright dots on the ink-black veld of the northern Transvaal: sheep. ~ Barry Lopez

I've lived to bury my desires
and see my dreams corrode with rust
now all that's left are fruitless fires
that burn my empty heart to dust.
Struck by the clouds of cruel fate
My crown of Summer bloom is sere
Alone and sad, I watch and wait
And wonder if the end is near.
As conquered by the last cold air
When Winter whistles in the wind
Alone upon a branch that's bare
A trembling leaf is left behind. ~ Alexander Pushkin

Autumn is leaving its mellowness behind for its spiky, rotted stage. Don't remember summer even saying goodbye. ~ David Mitchell

Everything ends. Summer ends. Happiness ends. Days of joy are followed by days of sorrow. Even the gods will meet their end in the last battle of Ragnarok when all the evil of the world brings chaos and the sun will turn dark, the waters will drown the homes of men, and the great beamed hall of Valhalla will burn to ashes. Everything ends.
I drew Serpent Breath and walked towards the scouts. ~ Bernard Cornwell

I raised frogs every spring in our house from tadpoles and by end of summer our house was overrun with frogs. ~ William Joyce

So in the end, was it worth it? Jesus Christ. How irreparably changed my life has become. It's always the last day of summer and I've been left out in the cold with no door to get back in. I'll grant you I've had more than my share of poignant moments. Life passes most people by while they're making grand plans for it. Throughout my lifetime, I've left pieces of my heart here and there. And now, there's almost not enough to stay alive. But I force a smile, knowing that my ambition far exceeded my talent. There are no more white horses or pretty ladies at my door. ~ George Jung

It was the summer in America when the nausea returned, when the joking didn't stop, when the speculation and the theorizing and the hyperbole didn't stop, when the moral obligation to explain to one's children about adult life was abrogated in favor of maintaining in them every illusion about adult life, when the smallness of people was simply crushing, when some kind of demon had been unleashed in the nation and, on both sides, people wondered "Why are we so crazy?" when men and women alike, upon awakening in the morning, discovered that during the night, in a state of sleep that transported them beyond envy or loathing, they had dreamed of the brazenness of Bill Clinton. I myself dreamed of a mammoth banner, draped dadaistically like a Christo wrapping from one end of the White House to the other and bearing the legend A HUMAN BEING LIVES HERE. ~ Philip Roth

By the end of that summer in Ashcroft my father had nearly run out of stories. He'd almost read his father's full library and arrived at last at Moby Dick. The edition I have is a Penguin paperback (Book 2,333, Herman Melville, Penguin, London). It's been well-thumbed, at least triple-read, there's that smell the fat orange-spine Penguins get when their pages have yellowed and the book bulges, basically the smell of complex humanity, sort of sweat and salt and endeavour. Like all the fat orange Penguins, it gets fatter with reading, which it should, because in a way the more you read it the bigger your own experience of the world gets, the fatter your soul. Try it, you'll see. ~ Niall Williams

MR. BONES KNEW THAT WILLY WASN'T LONG FOR THIS WORLD. The cough had been inside him for over six months, and by now there wasn't a chance in hell that he would ever get rid of it. Slowly and inexorably, without once taking a turn for the better, the thing had assumed a life of its own, advancing from a faint, phlegm-filled rattle in the lungs on February third to the wheezy sputum-jigs and gobby convulsions of high summer. All that was bad enough, but in the past two weeks a new tonality had crept into the bronchial music - something tight and flinty and percussive - and the attacks came now so often as to be almost constant. Every time one of them started, Mr. Bones half expected Willy's body to explode from the rockets of pressure bursting agaisnt his rib cage. He figured that blood would be the next step and when that fatal moment finally occurred on Saturday afternoon, it was as if all the angels in heaven had opened their mouths and started to sing. Mr. Bones saw it happen with his own eyes, standing by the edge of the road between Washington and Baltimore as Willy hawked up a few miserable clots of red matter into his handkerchief, and right then and there he knew that every ounce of hope was gone. The smell of death had settled upon Willy G. Christmas, and as surely as the sun was a lamp in the clouds that went off and on everyday, the end was drawing near.

What was a poor dog to do? Mr. Bones had been with Willy since his earliest days as a pup, and by now ~ Paul Auster

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. ~ Billy Graham

Life is the blossoming of flowers in the spring, the ripening of fruit in the fall, the rhythm of the earth and of nature. Life is the cry of cicadas signalling the end of summer, migratory birds winging south in a transparent autumn sky, fish frolicking in a stream. Life is the joy beautiful music installs in us, the thrilling sight of a mountain peak reddened by the rising sun, the myriad combinations and permutations of visible and invisible phenomena. Life is all things. ~ Daisaku Ikeda

She was a gardener of the ruthless type, and went for any small green thing that incautiously showed a timid spike above the earth, suspecting it of being a weed. She had had a slight difference with the professional gardener who had hitherto worked for her on three afternoons during the week, and had told him that his services were no longer required. She meant to do her gardening herself this year, and was confident that a profusion of beautiful flowers and a plethora of delicious vegetables would be the result. At the end of her garden path was a barrow of rich manure, which she proposed, when she had finished the slaughter of the innocents, to dig into the depopulated beds. On the other side of her paling her neighbour Georgie Pillson was rolling his strip of lawn, on which during the summer he often played croquet on a small scale. Occasionally they shouted remarks to each other, but as they got more and more out of breath with their exertions the remarks got fewer. Mrs. Quantock's last question had been "What do you do with slugs, Georgie?" and Georgie had panted out, "Pretend you don't see them. ~ E.F. Benson

The smooth, flat rocks were exactly the same, the sea pounded down on them in the same way, and also the landscape under the water, with its small valleys and bays and steep chasms and slopes, strewn with starfish and sea urchins, crabs and fish, was the same. You could still buy Slazenger tennis rackets, Tretorn balls, and Rossignol skis, Tyrolia bindings and Koflach boots. The houses where we lived were still standing, all of them. The sole difference, which is the difference between a child's reality and an adult's, was that they were no longer laden with meaning. A pair of Le Coq soccer boots was just a pair of soccer boots. If I felt anything when I held a pair in my hands now it was only a hangover from my childhood, nothing else, nothing in itself. The same with the sea, the same with the rocks, the same with the taste of salt that could fill your summer days to saturation, now it was just salt, end of story. The world was the same, yet it wasn't, for its meaning had been displaced, and was still being displaced, approaching closer and closer to meaninglessness. ~ Karl Ove Knausgaard

I'd like to hear more about them classes." he rasped one morning near the end of summer. "It sounds real interesting."
It felt like a new beginning. ~ Tara Westover

Go to bed when summers ends, what a good idea; wake up bright and early when birds announce its spring. ~ Francis Norris, 1st Earl Of Berkshire

One summer at the fag end of the nineties, I had to go out of London to talk to a literary society, of the sort that must have been old-fashioned when the previous century closed. When the day came, I wondered why I'd agreed to it; but yes is easier than no, and of course when you make a promise you think the time will never arrive: that there will be a nuclear holocaust, or something else diverting. ~ Hilary Mantel

BILLY: When Graham and I were kids, our mom used to take us to this community pool during the summer. And this one time, Graham was sitting on the edge of the pool, toward the deep end. And this was before he could swim.

And I stood there next to him, and my brain went, I could push him in. And that terrified the hell out of me. I didn't want to push him in. I would never push him in but…it scared me that the only thing between this moment of calm and the biggest tragedy of my life was me choosing not to do it. That really tripped me out, that everyone's life was that precarious. That there wasn't some all-knowing mechanism in place that stopped things that shouldn't happen from happening.

That's something that had always scared me.

And that's how it felt being around Daisy Jones. ~ Taylor Jenkins Reid

For a while we pretended
That we never had to end it
But we knew we'd have to say goodbye
You were crying at the airport
When they finally closed the plane door
I could barely hold it all inside

Torn in two
And I know I shouldn't tell you
But I just can't stop thinking of you
Wherever you are
You
Wherever you are
Every night I almost call you
Just to say it always will be you
Wherever you are

I could fly a thousand oceans
But there's nothing that compares to
What we had, and so I walk alone

I wish I didn't have to be gone
Maybe you've already moved on
But the truth is I don't want to know

Torn in two
And I know I shouldn't tell you
But I just can't stop thinking of you
Wherever you are
You
Wherever you are
Every night I almost call you
Just to say it always will be you
Wherever you are

You can say we'll be together
Someday
Nothing lasts forever
Nothing stays the same
So why can't I stop feeling this way

Torn in two
And I know I shouldn't tell you
But I just can't stop thinking of you
Wherever you are
You
Wherever you are
Every night I almost call you
Just to say it always will be you
Wherever you are ~ 5 Seconds Of Summer

Gone are the birds that were our summer guests. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

It is so still and transcendent, the cypress trees poise like flames of forgotten darkness, that should have been blown out at the end of the summer. For as we have candles to light the darkness of night, so the cypresses are candles to keep the darkness aflame in the full sunshine. ~ D.H. Lawrence

I'll see you at your funeral, if you'll see me at mine. I'll wait at the edges for your ghost to rise (until the end of time). We'll find someplace nice to haunt, an abandoned beach house filled with memories of summer sunburns. Children will giggle as we tickle their feet at night and they'll never know the bad dreams we fight. We'll make our own heaven. Walking in places we used to walk until death, dies. ~ Pleasefindthis

So, are you going to the lake today?" Jay asked, finally falling into step beside Violet as their pace slowed. They headed nowhere in particular when they hiked like this, exploring places they'd been more times than they could add up, both on, and off, the well-known paths.
Violet shrugged. "Are you?"
She already knew the answer; they both did. Today was the big end-of-summer party at Lake Tapps. Kind of a last blast before the sun disappeared for the year. Pretty much everyone they knew would be there.
Jay shrugged too. "I was thinking about it."
Inwardly she smiled at the prospect of spending one of the few remaining lazy summer days with him at the lake. "Yeah?" she questioned, not needing him to actually ask her along. "Maybe I'll go too."
He grinned, practically beaming at her, and an unfamiliar warmth that had nothing to do with the weather crept through her. "Cool. You can drive," he suggested.
She shook her head. If it had been anyone else, she'd probably feel like she was being used, but instead she loved the exhilarating feeling of having something he didn't have, especially in light of the fact that he suddenly seemed to have everything that she wanted. "Fine, then you can buy me gas," she added, raising her eyebrows and daring him to say no. ~ Kimberly Derting