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— Maud Hart Lovelace"It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside."
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Then followed that beautiful season... Summer.... Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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A man says a lot of things in summer he doesn't mean in winter.
— Patricia Briggs
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