Quotes About Warmth

He pushed a hand inside the blankets to feel her cheek, her shoulder. Trickles of water ran across her face as her hair melted. He was cold, but she was ice. She needed every scrap of warmth he could find for her...His sense of touch, enhanced by the Void and saidin, soaked in the feel of her. Her skin made silt feel rough.

He needed to drink in winter, till he made winter's heart seem Sunday noon.

The bed was narrow, the woman's elbows sharp and her feet icy despite thick blankets trapping the warmth of the small, tiled stove built in beneath the bed.

It's happening, just from the warming of the sun, the road and green praire farmland and buffeting wind coming together. And soon it is nothing but beautiful warmth and wind and speed and sun down the empty road. The last chills of the morning are thawed by the warm air. Wind and more sun and more smooth road.

Home and I are such good friends.

I wish every one in the world was as warm and sheltered as we are tonight.

Pat wanted to comfort him for something she did not understand. She slipped her little hand into his...he had a warm pleasant hand. They walked home together so.

And the coming of Anne—the vivid, imaginative, impetuous child with her heart of love, and her world of fancy, bringing with her color and warmth and radiance, until the wilderness of existence had blossomed like the rose.

There is something in me today that makes just love everybody I see.

I think you can always tell when a house has been loved. But it's been asleep for so long. And lonely. It always hurts me to see a house lonely.

A house from which nobody ever went away without feeling better in some way. A house in which there was always laughter.

it's the homiest spot I ever saw-it's homier than home avowed Philippa Gorden, looking about her with delighted eyes.

Miss Cordelia thought she had never seen anybody so much like an incarnate smile before. Smiles of all kinds seemed literally to riot over his ruddy face and in and out of his eyes and around the corners of his mouth.

I always liked to meet Myra, said Miss Cornelia. She was always so gay and cheerful—she made you feel better just by her handshake. Myra always made the best of things.

In dark times, when you're feeling homesick or defeated, there is really nothing like a good, steaming soup, and dumplings made from scratch.

It's happiness to see you.

He remembered the cold nights in their Arkansas cabin when he was a boy—how his mother piled quilts on top of him and his brothers, how peaceful it seemed under the quilts. Then it seemed like sleep was one of the most wonderful things in life.

I wouldn't mind to die if I could just do it warm.

BUNDLED IN A wool sweater, sipping a cup of tea, Theodosia sat on the wide wooden porch, enjoying the warmth of the early-morning sun.

Owen and I have made it our weekend ritual to sit on the bench together drinking our morning coffee. It's our time to catch up on the week as the sun rises slowly over the San Francisco Bay, catching the bench in its warmth.

What brings you to our little corner of the world? And how can I go about making it your favorite corner?

All day the storm lasted. The windows were white and the wind never stopped howling and screaming. It was pleasant in the warm house. Laura and Mary did their lessons, then Pa played the fiddle while Ma rocked and knitted, and bean soup simmered on the stove. All night the storm lasted, and all the next day. Fire-light danced out of the stove's draught, and Pa told stories and played the fiddle.

Then the fire was shining on the hearth, the cold and the dark and the wild beasts were all shut out, and Jack the brindle bulldog and Black Susan the cat lay blinking at the flames in the fireplace. Ma sat in her rocking chair, sewing by the light

Nothing anywhere could be better than being at home with the home folks, she was sure.