“Today, while Mother was watching me work, she suddenly remarked, “They say that people who like summer flowers die in the summer. I wonder if it’s true.” I did not answer but went on watering the eggplants. It is already the beginning of summer. She continued softly, “I am very fond of hibiscus, but we haven’t a single one in this garden.”“We have plenty of oleanders,” I answered in an intentionally sharp tone.“I don’t like them. I like almost all summer flowers, but oleanders are too loud.”“I like roses best. But they bloom in all four seasons. I wonder if people who like roses best have to die four times over again.”We both laughed.”

“I like roses best. But they bloom in all four seasons. I wonder if people who like roses best have to die four times over again.”

“If someone told me at the beginning of that summer that I would come face-to-face with death because of a Romeo and Juliet romance, I would never have believed it. But it wasn't like that summer went at all like I planned in the first place.”

“I fell for her in summer, my lovely summer girl,From summer she is made, my lovely summer girl,I’d love to spend a winter with my lovely summer girl,But I’m never warm enough for my lovely summer girl,It’s summer when she smiles, I’m laughing like a child,It’s the summer of our lives; we’ll contain it for a whileShe holds the heat, the breeze of summer in the circle of her handI’d be happy with this summer if it’s all we ever had.”

“I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.”

“I remember my childhood names for grasses and secret flowers. I remember where a toad may live and what time the birds awaken in the summer -- and what trees and seasons smelled like -- how people looked and walked and smelled even. The memory of odors is very rich.”