Quotes about june

If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance.

In June we picked the clover,And sea-shells in July:There was no silence at the door,No word from the sky.A hand came out of AugustAnd flicked his life away:We had not time to bargain, mope,Moralize, or pray.

I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.

It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

We can't possibly have a summer love. So many people have tried that the name's become proverbial. Summer is only the unfulfilled promise of spring, a charlatan in place of the warm balmy nights I dream of in April. It's a sad season of life without growth...It has no day.

Today has been a day dropped out of June into April.

The secret island had looked mysterious enough on the night they had seen it before - but now, swimming in the hot June haze, it seemed more enchanting than ever. As they drew near to it, and saw the willow trees that bent over the water-edge and heard the sharp call of moorhens that scuttled off, the children gazed in delight. Nothing but trees and birds and little wild animals. Oh, what a secret island, all for their very own, to live on and play on.

The Republic's most wanted criminal is just a boy, sitting before me, suddenly vulnerable, laying all his weaknesses out for me to see.

Then Day reaches out and touches my hand with his. He encloses it in a handshake. And just like that, I am linked with him again, I feel the pulse of our bond and his- tory and love through our hands, like a wave of magic, the return of a long-lost friend. Of something meant to be. The feeling brings tears to my eyes. Perhaps we can take a step forward together.“Hi,” he says. “I’m Daniel.” “Hi,” I reply. “I’m June.

What a joke! Poor little rich girl's fallen in love with the Republic's most famous criminal.

Sometimes, the sun sets earlier. Days don’t last forever, you know. But I’ll fight as hard as I can. I can promise you that.

I’ve been searching a long time for something I think I lost. I felt like I found something when I saw you back there.

You're brilliant,"he says."But you're a fool to stay with someone like me."I close my eyes at the touch of his hand."Then we are both fools.

You should have taken me with you," I whisper to him. Then I lean my head against his and begin to cry. In my mind, I make a silent promise to my brother's killer.I will hunt you down. I will scour the streets of Los Angeles for you. Search every street in the Republic if I have to. I will trick you and deceive you, lie, cheat and steal to find you, tempt you out of your hiding place, and chase you until you have nowhere else to run. I make you this promise: your life is mine.

Day, the boy from the streets with nothing except the clothes on his back and the earnestness in his eyes, owns my heart. He is beauty, inside and out. He is the silver lining in a world of darkness. He is my light.

We can heal. Perhaps we can return to that same place we once stood, when we were both young and innocent.

I turn even more flustered when I remember that I have actually pistol-whipped him in the face before. Romantic.

It’s you,” he whispers. There is wonder in his voice. “Is it?” I whisper back, my voice trembling with all the emotions I’ve kept hidden for so long

Day, the boy from the streets with nothing except the clothes on his back and the earnestness in his eyes, owns my heart.

I've never thought of describing her beauty as delicate, because delicate just isn't a word that fits June... but here, now that she's sick, I realize just how fragile she can be.

Someone's going to be very pleased to see you.""I don't think the Elector will be as excited as you think.""I wasn't talking about the Elector."My heart jumps at that.

June will break your heart. I can see it already. She'll shatter you into a million pieces.

Stay safe. I want to see you again when all this is done.

I need to let him go.

You led the soldiers right to my family's door. You're the reason they're dead.

I'm so sorry. I am so sorry for everything.

I certainly don't understand all these strange new feelings inside me--am I here because I love him, or because I owe him?

Goodnight, June.

June," Day murmurs. I feel a strange warmth at the sound of my name on his lips.

I find myself pausing to admire her face.For a brief moment, I'm lost to my surroundings.

He returns my smile. His teeth are beautiful, the loveliest I've seen so far on these streets.

He took my hand and held it against his chest, "Feel that? It beats for you.

I lean my head against my knee and close my eyes. Even the illusion of June is enough to send a stabbing pain through my chest. Hell. I miss her so much.

Lots of people go mad in January. Not as many as in May, of course. Nor June. But January is your third most common month for madness.

It means, Day, that you're dying.

I'm not loyal enough to the Republic to stamp that loyalty right on my face. Leave that to June.

I was one of those unfortunates adopted by upper middle-class professionals and nurtured in an environment of learning, art and a socio-religious culture steeped in more than 2000 years of Talmudic tradition. Not everyone is lucky enough to have been raised in a whiskey tango trailer park by a bow-legged female whose sole qualification for motherhood is a womb that happened to catch a sperm of a passing truck driver.

June would always be Charlotte's favorite month on Quinnipeague. She loved the frothy roil of the sea as it recovered from a day of rain, and in those early mornings, before the fog lifted and sun warmed the island, there was nothing, nothing better than a wood fire, wool socks, and hot chocolate made from scratch.

If you could not do much in the month of April with five letters, think of what really you can do with the month of May with three letters before you open the door of the month of June with four letters. Which is the break time for the entire twelve months of the year. Until you clearly understand how you are spending the year, you shall finish spending it and ponder over how you spent it, year after year! No one is absolutely free from excuses and the challenges of life. You just have to do som

June suns, you cannot store themTo warm the winter's cold,The lad that hopes for heavenShall fill his mouth with mould.

What's the point of keeping in touch with the girl you're crazy about, when you're dying?

But every now and then, when I steal a glance at the Girl, or feel her eyes on me, I helplessly drift back to thinking about her.

I'm supposed to hate you for what you did, I think. But her eyes linger on me in a way that refuses to let me.

Her sadness makes her impossibly beautiful, like snow blanketing a barren landscape.

She's pretty in a way that distracts me just like she did in the Skiz ring. No, pretty's not the right word. Beautiful.

He loved you.

June 2005 is the five year anniversary of the debut of Battle Pope.

Before I can say anything else, he steps forward and takes my face in his hands. Then he's kissing me one last time.

At this moment, all I'm thinking about is what I'd give up for the chance to kiss her or to run my fingers through her dark hair.

I ALMOST KISSED THE GIRL LAST NIGHT.

I will hunt you down. I will scour the streets of Los Angeles for you. Search every street in the Republic if I have to. I will trick you and deceive you, lie, cheat and steal to find you, tempt you out of your hiding place, and chase you until you have nowhere else to run. I make you this promise: your life is mine.

I'd gotten someone killed.The price people seem to pay for crossing my path.

He's right. I can't deny it. I am the reason Day lost everything that matters to him.

What a strange thing it is to wake up to a milk-white overcast June morning! The sun is hidden by a thick cotton blanket of clouds, and the air is vapor-filled and hazy with a concentration of blooming scent.The world is somnolent and cool, in a temporary reprieve from the normal heat and radiance.But the sensation of illusion is strong. Because the sun can break through the clouds at any moment . . .What a soft thoughtful time.In this illusory gloom, like a night-blooming flower, let your imagi

(June had drawn out every leaf on the trees. The mothers of Pimlico gave suck to their young. Messages were passing from the Fleet to the Admiralty. Arlington Street and Piccadilly seemed to chafe the very air in the Park and lift its leaves hotly, brilliantly, on waves of that divine vitality which Clarissa loved. To dance, to ride, she had adored all that.)

June has never looked more beautiful than she does now, unadorned and honest, vulnerable yet invincible.

I had a chat with May and I had a sweet talk with April but the lovely conversation that left me to ponder was the long talk I had with June. Mathematics came to tell me that May is 3, June is 4 and April is 5. ‘ This should have been the counting order’ Mathematics said to me, and added, if you add 3 and 5 you shall surely get 8 and if you find the mid of 8 you will get 4 which is June. Ask June why the disorder! So I quickly called June and asked, why have you change the order? June said, ‘my

June cackled with delight, muttering, "Whoops!" as a car almost killed them.

Now, as we stand three feet apart and stare at each other, I feel the full distance that comes with spending so much time apart, a moment filled with the electricity of a first meeting and the uncertainty of strangers.

He is beauty, inside and out.He is the silver lining in a world of darkness.He is my light.

i have laughedmore than daffodilsand cried more than June.

Green was the silence, wet was the light,the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon.

I realizedJune had never beenjust a monthmusic...never just a trembleon my lipswarmth was nevermerely a blanket.