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Some Lovely Quotes About August

A dozen reflections on what the month of August conjures.


“August is the slow, gentle month that stretches out the longest across the span of a year. It yawns and lingers on with the light in its palms.” Victoria Erickson


“This morning, the sun endures past dawn. I realize that it is August: the summer’s last stand.” Sara Baume


“I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know. Twilight is the border between day and night, and the shore is the border between sea and land. The border is longing: when both have fallen in love but still haven’t said anything. The border is to be on the way. It is the way that is the most important thing.”

Tove Jansson


“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.” Sylvia Plath


“In August, the large masses of berries, which, when in flower, had attracted many wild bees, gradually assumed their bright velvety crimson hue, and by their weight again bent down and broke their tender limbs.” Henry David Thoreau


“When summer opens, I see how fast it matures, and fear it will be short; but after the heats of July and August, I am reconciled, like one who has had his swing, to the cool of autumn.” Ralph Waldo Emerson


“August was nearly over - the month of apples and falling stars, the last care-free month for the school children. The days were not hot, but sunny and limpidly clear - the first sign of advancing autumn.” Viktor Někrasov


“Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar.” William Faulkner


“One day you discover you are alive… but, not long after, the sun goes out. Snow falls, but no one sees it, on an August noon.” Ray Bradbury


“Everything good, everything magical happens between the months of June and August. Winters are simply a time to count the weeks until the next summer.” Jenny Han


“Long drawn, the cool, green shadows

Steal o’er the lake’s warm breast,

And the ancient silence follows

the burning sun to rest. The calm of a thousand summers,

And dreams of countless Junes,

Return when the lake-wind murmurs

through golden August noons.”

William Braithwaite


“August has passed, and yet summer continues by force to grow days. They sprout secretly between the chapters of the year, covertly included between its pages.” Jonathan Safran Foer

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