The dreamy days and sticky nights of summer were already calling, as if anything could happen.

I loved you when love was Spring, and May, Loved you when summer deepened into June, and now when autumn yellows all the leaves...

He didn't pick her; you don't choose who you fall in love with any more than you choose the shape of your bones.

We came out on Coldra Crescent, one of those warm air nights, stars spitting in the sky like firebugs stuck on a big black velvet rump. A summer night to make anybody with standard glands feel that tidy homes, spring mattresses, four guaranteed meals per day, and legalised religion were all criminal to human development.

I love how summer just wraps it’s arms around you like a warm blanket.

Summer Nights.