The reader became the book; and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book.
Wallace StevensIn spring they lie flat at the first warmth, they ruin my summer and in autumn they smell of women.
Hugo ClausIt was a splendid summer morning and it seemed as if nothing could go wrong.
The Stories of John CheeverA breeze, a forgotten summer, a smile, all can fit into a storefront window.
The Sun Watches the Sun