Zoë Lianne, "Erasure"
Mary Oliver, "Felicity"
Emily Bronte, "Wuthering Heights"
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"August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time."
-Sylvia Plath
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{Tumblr User: @poetryatmost (x)/ Charlotte Eriksson, Empty Roads & Broken Bottles: in search for The Great Perhaps/ Franz Kafka, from The Diaries of Franz Kafka, 1914-1923/ Anne Sexton, Live or Die; from 'Imitations of Drowning'/ Emily Dickinson, from "No crowd that has occurred" (Poem #515), Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson/Franz Kafka, from The Diaries of Franz Kafka, 1910-1913/ Tumblr User: @poetryatmost/ Listy Tamtego Lata, from Letters of Summer Past/ Carlie Hoffman, from "High Bridge Park," published in Gulf Stream/ Alex Dimitrov, from "Love," in Love and Other Poems}
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"Summer is growing old and everything is flowing into a single melancholy murmur"
~ Tomas Tranströmer, from "The Cuckoo"
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Sylvia Plath, Letters Home (August 2, 1952)
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A late afternoon in August,
ripe, transparent,
the cherry tree's leaves unstirring,
the grasses mute.
Currants, already black, burst
on the tongue, their sweetness
holding the memory
of spring and summer, of storms,
and mornings, and the flight of a lark.
Adam Zagajewski, Night
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when Franz Kafka said "it's august and I am tired of being strong" and when Kim Addonizio said "we lose june, we lose july, in August we look in the mirrors and want to die" and when Wiliam Faulkner said "some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager with something in it, sad and nostalgic and familiar" and when Zoe Lianne said " Summer dissolves in my mouth and I can't remember what it tasted like" and when taylor swift said "August slipped away like a bottle of wine" and when -
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“waiting for what? i’d like to know.
it is august.
my life is going to change. i feel it.”
raymond carver
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August still stretched before us-- long and golden and reassuring, like an endless period of delicious sleep.
Lauren Oliver
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"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
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"It is August. My life is going to change. I feel it."
– Raymond Carver, "Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?"
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August still stretched before us-- long and golden and reassuring, like an endless period of delicious sleep.
Lauren Oliver
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Thursday, August 18, 1921.
"The sun streams (no, never streams; floods rather) down upon all the yellow fields and the long low barns; and what wouldn't I give to be coming through Firle woods, dirty and hot, with my nose turned home, every muscle tired and the brain laid up in sweet lavender, so sane and cool, and ripe for the morrow's task."
~ Virginia Woolf, A Writer's Diary
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Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka
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