Literary notes about summer (AI summary)
The word "summer" in literature is often imbued with multiple layers of meaning, serving as both a temporal marker and a rich symbol of emotion, vitality, and change. In some works, summer paints an idyllic picture of warmth, leisure, and youthful exuberance—as when it is described as a time to relax in cool nooks or to gather with friends on long, languid days ([1], [2]). Conversely, summer can also evoke a sense of confinement or unease, as in accounts of oppressive heat or relentless rain that force characters indoors ([3], [4]). Authors use summer not only as the season in which events transpire—from vacations and travel to historical turning points ([5], [6])—but also as a metaphor for fleeting beauty and the passage of time, with moments tending toward both promise and eventual decay ([7], [8]). In this way, summer becomes a versatile literary device, capable of conjuring a spectrum of moods from both the natural world and the human heart.
- In summer this little nook is deliciously cool.
— from Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796-1812 by Emperor of the French Napoleon I - The next summer Captain Jim was in Havana—that was before he gave up the sea, of course.
— from Anne's House of Dreams by L. M. Montgomery - But it proved a wet, ungenial summer, and incessant rain often confined us for days to the house.
— from Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley - Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken’d birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
— from The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven Edition by Edgar Allan Poe - Then came the summer, 1894, and at its close Herzl took a much needed vacation.
— from The Jewish State by Theodor Herzl - In the summer of 1843, I was traveling and lecturing, in company with William A. White, Esq., through the state of Indiana.
— from My Bondage and My Freedom by Frederick Douglass - As imperceptibly as grief The summer lapsed away, — Too imperceptible, at last, To seem like perfidy.
— from Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete by Emily Dickinson - Perhaps their parents had at last come to the conclusion that husbands might be found abroad, and that a summer’s travel might bear fruit.
— from The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
