Why Is 'August: Osage County' Considered A Dark Comedy?

I get a little excited talking about local libraries — they have so many small, helpful policies tucked away. From what I’ve experienced with my visits to the Finney County Library, overdue fines are handled pretty practically: they usually charge modest daily fines for late physical items, but accounts are mainly blocked from checking out new materials once fines hit a certain threshold. If an item is truly lost or damaged, you’ll likely be billed a replacement cost plus a processing fee instead of just endless daily fines. Payments are straightforward in my experience. I paid once at the circulation desk with cash, and another time through their online account portal using a card. They’ll accept cash, checks, and card payments at the desk, and many branches let you clear fines through the library catalog’s 'My Account' section. If you have a lot owed, it’s worth asking about waivers, amnesty days, or payment plans — I asked once and they suggested a small payment to unblock my account right away. If you’re unsure, call ahead or check their website; staff are usually friendly about walking you through options.

There are a couple of ways I read your question, but one natural take is: you’re asking which writers are most associated with memorable lines that evoke August or late summer. I’m the kind of person who reads on the porch when the cicadas are loudest, so I gravitate to authors whose sentences feel like heat and late light — folks whose prose or poetry really captures that August mood. Ray Bradbury immediately comes to mind because of how he bottles summer nostalgia in 'Dandelion Wine'. He doesn’t necessarily drop pithy one-liners about the month itself, but his whole sensibility — the smell of cut grass, the way evenings stretch — reads like August distilled. John Keats’ 'To Autumn' isn’t titled August, yet it’s the canonical ode to the season’s turn; the poem’s sensuousness often reads like the end of August, all ripeness and slow decay. For sharper, darker takes on family and heat, Tracy Letts’ play 'August: Osage County' contains a heap of quotable, acid dialogue that people still reference when they talk about blistering family confrontations. If you broaden the question to authors born in August who happen to have famous quotes, the list gets more concrete: Mary Shelley (born August 30) gave us 'Frankenstein', whose lines about human striving and responsibility are endlessly cited; H. P. Lovecraft (born August 20) has become a quotable figure in weird fiction circles; Dorothy Parker (born August 22) is basically a machine for sharp, epigrammatic one-liners; Ray Bradbury (born August 22) again, because the imagery in his pages gets quoted constantly; and James Baldwin (born August 2) whose sentences about identity and love are widely anthologized. These guys are all connected to the month either by birthday or by the way their work evokes late-summer moods. If you want a curated list of single famous quotes that literally say 'August' in them, that’s a more niche hunt and a fun little project — I can dig up verifiable lines from poems, plays, and novels that explicitly mention August and compile attributions and contexts. Otherwise, browsing 'Dandelion Wine', 'To Autumn', 'August: Osage County', and the essays of James Baldwin will get you a lot of that late-summer resonance I think you’re after.

There’s a real art to dropping quotes into a blog post so they feel alive instead of tacked-on. I use quotes as little beats in my writing—moments that change the rhythm, add authority, or give readers a pause. When I’m drafting a reflective piece in August about the end of summer, I’ll often start with a short quotation to set the mood, then unpack it in a conversational way. Pulling a line from a favorite book like 'The Alchemist' or a line from a local artist instantly frames the piece and hints at the vibe I want readers to taste before they dive deeper. Functionally, quotes serve a bunch of roles: they lend credibility when you cite experts, provide emotional resonance when you quote creators or readers, and create visual contrast when you use blockquotes or pull-quotes. I’ve learned the hard way that how you format them matters. Inline quotes are great for quick evidence or flavor; blockquotes work wonders when you want to slow the reader down. For blog design, I love making pull-quotes into image cards for social media—those snippets become snackable content that drives clicks back to the full post. Also, small technical details matter: use smart punctuation (typographic quotes) for a professional look, and be mindful of nesting quotes properly if you’re quoting someone who itself quotes another source. There’s also a legal and ethical side I don’t skimp on. Attribute clearly, avoid lifting long passages without permission, and give context so the quote isn’t misinterpreted. For SEO, quoting recognizable sources can help if you also interpret or add value—search engines prefer content that explains why the quote matters. Accessibility-wise, I add clear alt text to quote images and ensure blockquotes are marked up semantically so screen readers announce them. Lastly, a tiny personal trick: when I write seasonal posts in August, I curate a short sidebar called 'August lines'—three short quotes that capture the month’s energy. It’s simple but keeps readers coming back for a familiar, cozy ritual.

On hot August afternoons I find myself scribbling little lines on sticky notes for the first week of school — teachers love a good quote as a hook. I use quotes about August (the month), quotes from authors named August, and even quotes that use the word 'august' as an adjective to set tone or spark discussion. Practically, a quote can be a bell-ringer: project a single line on the board, ask students to free-write for five minutes about what it makes them picture, then share in pairs. For example, a line like 'August is like the Sunday of summer' (paraphrased) leads to sensory writing prompts, comparisons with 'Sunday' imagery, and quick vocabulary work. When I plan units, I scatter quotes as small assessment forks. In literature, I’ll pull a sentence from a short story or from playwrights such as lines surrounding 'August: Osage County' and use that to model close reading — what does diction tell us about mood, what evidence supports an inference, which rhetorical devices are at play? In social studies, quotes tied to August events (like speeches, declarations, or historical reflections) become primary sources: students analyze context, bias, and purpose, then create a short commentary or a visual timeline. For younger grades I simplify: a bright, evocative quote can be illustrated, acted out, or rewritten in the student's own words to build comprehension and voice. I also like to turn quotes into multi-modal projects. One year I had students curate a 'Month of Messages' board: each chose a quote about August or transition, paired it with an image, and composed a two-paragraph reflection explaining why it resonated and how it connected to a class theme. Tech-wise, Padlet, Google Slides, or Seesaw work great for collaborative quote walls and allow me to formatively assess understanding. Differentiation is key — for accelerated readers I assign comparative analysis between two quotes, for emergent readers I scaffold with sentence starters and vocabulary previews. Beyond academics, quotes are gold for socio-emotional learning. A quiet, reflective quote about change or anticipation can open a discussion about feelings at the start of a school year. I’ll often close a class with an exit ticket: pick a quote from today, name one line that mattered, and write one action you’ll take tomorrow. Small rituals like these make lessons feel more human and keep students connected to the text — plus I get a lot of sticky notes on my desk by mid-September, which is a weirdly satisfying sign that the strategy worked.

There’s a cozy, slightly bittersweet vibe to 'Television / So Far So Good' that hits me in the chest like a late-night walk home. The lyrics read like someone narrating small moments—watching TV, checking in with themselves, measuring progress not in grand milestones but in tiny, everyday wins. To me it's about gentle self-reckoning: not denying that things can be messy, but recognizing that, for now, life isn’t collapsing. That repeated refrain of "so far so good" feels less like bragging and more like a sigh of relief, a way of keeping panic at bay by celebrating the present minute-by-minute. I also hear a contrast between passivity and presence. Television is often a default background for life—stuff happens while we scroll through channels or binge shows—but the song flips that. It treats those small domestic scenes as meaningful markers of being alive. There’s an intimacy to lines that describe mundane details: they’re anchors. On a rainy afternoon I’ve zoned out to this track while doing dishes, and suddenly it feels like company, like someone else is saying it’s okay to be imperfect. If you’ve dug through Rex’s other tracks like 'Loving Is Easy' or the more introspective pieces, this fits neatly into his knack for blending sharp emotional honesty with warm, understated melodies. It doesn’t hand down answers; it offers comfort and a reminder that progress can be quiet. That kind of realism—hope without pressure—is why I keep coming back to it when life feels cluttered.

I was half-asleep doing dishes when 'Television / So Far So Good' came on and it stopped me in the middle of a plate scrub — that’s the kind of tiny, real moment where this song’s lyrics hit hardest. What makes the words so popular, to me, is how plainly they talk about being messy and hopeful at once. They sound like someone speaking across a kitchen table: honest, a little awkward, and strangely comforting. That conversational honesty is rare in pop; instead of big metaphors, you get concrete little images and confessions that stick in your head and your captions. Another thing that keeps the lyrics alive is how singable they are. The melodies are simple but clever, and Rex’s vocal phrasing accentuates lines in ways that make them perfect for covers, late-night piano sessions, or that one lyric you screenshot for an Instagram story. Social media did the rest: people clipped short, relatable lines and used them as mood tags or memes. Also, the production—warm piano, soft percussion—gives those words space to breathe, so they feel like a private conversation even when a thousand people are listening. I also think nostalgia plays a role. Whether you first heard it during a breakup, a move, or a rainy commute, the lyrics bookmark moments in life. They’re personal enough to mean something specific to you while being universal enough that lots of people can slot them into their own stories. That blend of intimacy and universality is why I keep coming back to the lines long after the track ends.

I still get a little giddy whenever I hear the opening lines of 'Television / So Far So Good'—that song first showed up publicly in 2017. It arrived during the wave when Rex was turning bedroom-recorded charm into bigger releases, and the track is usually associated with the material he was putting out around the time of 'Apricot Princess' (so think late 2017). I remember seeing threads on fan forums back then, everyone posting clips and trying to pin down the exact date the studio upload hit streaming services. For most listeners, the lyrics effectively debuted with those streaming uploads and the handful of live performances he did around that period. Beyond the release timing, what sticks with me is how the lyrics circulated: they spread fast on sites like Genius and in YouTube lyric videos, and then fans started quoting lines in captions and playlists. If you’re hunting for the very first appearance, look to early streaming uploads and the live-set recordings from late 2017 shows. But for everyday listening, the version on streaming platforms is what most people consider the debut, and that’s where I first learned the words too—messed up my bus ride routine for a week because I couldn’t stop singing along.

Funny thing — I was halfway through my morning playlist when 'Television / So Far So Good' popped up and I started thinking about who actually wrote those lines that get stuck in your head. The short factual bit is simple: the lyrics were written by Alexander O'Connor, the artist who records under the name Rex Orange County. He’s the primary songwriter for most of his tracks, and this one reflects his typical mix of candid emotion and laid-back melody. If you want to double-check the official credits, I usually look at the album liner notes or streaming-service credits (Spotify and Tidal often list songwriters now), or search performing-rights databases like ASCAP or BMI. Fans also annotate lyrical nuances on sites like Genius, which can be fun for seeing how people interpret his lines. For me, the thing that makes his writing stick is how conversational it feels — like glimpses of a diary set to a sunlit chord progression.