Like a welcome summer rain, humor may suddenly cleanse and cool the earth, the air and you.
Tears of joy are like the summer rain drops pierced by sunbeams.
There is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.
There's no such thing as bad weather - only the wrong clothes.
There's no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing
I am sure it is a great mistake always to know enough to go in when it rains. One may keep snug and dry by such knowledge, but one misses a world of loveliness.
In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.
The summer sun was not meant for boys like me. Boys like me belonged to the rain.
Humor is laughing at what you haven't got when you ought to have it.
There's no such thing as bad weather, just soft people.
My older sister has entire kingdoms inside of her, and some of them are only accessible at certain seasons, in certain kinds of weather.
The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.
He had been eight years upon a project for extracting sunbeams out of cucumbers, which were to be put into vials hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw, inclement summers.
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? ... Or does it explode?
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?
August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
The dearest events are summer-rain.
Love does nothing but make you weak! It turns you into an object of pity and derision-a mewling pathetic creature no more fit to live than a worm squirming on the pavement after a hard summer rain.
Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.
or simply:
