Quotes About Cold

The train skimmed on softly, slithering, black pennants fluttering, black confetti lost on its own sick-sweet candy wind, down the hill, with the two boys pursuing, the air was so cold they ate ice cream with each breath.

The man was cold as an albino frog.

He balanced in space with the book in his sweating cold fingers.

The rocket stood in the cold winter morning, making summer with every breath of its mighty exhausts. The rocket made climates, and summer lay for a brief moment upon the land.

The voice clock mourned out the cold hour of a cold morning of a still colder year.

Once upon a time there were two cities within a city. One was light and one was dark. One moved restlessly all day while the other never stirred. One was warm and filled with ever-changing lights. One was cold and fixed in place by stones. And when the sun went down each afternoon on Maximus Films, the city of the living, it began to resemble Green Glade cemetery just across the way, which was the city of the dead.

Montag ran. He could feel the Hound, like autumn, come cold and dry and swift, like a wind that didn't stir grass, that didn't jar windows or disturb leaf shadows on the white sidewalks as it passed. The Hound did not touch the world. It carried its silence with it, so you could feel the silence building up a pressure behind you all across town. Montag felt the pressure rising, and ran.

There was a smell like a cut potato from all the land, raw and cold and white from having the moon on it most of the night.

Miss Foley had first noticed, some years ago, that her house was crowded with bright shadows of herself. Best, then, to ignore the cold sheets of December ice in the hall, above the bureaus, in the bath. Best skate the thin ice, lightly. Paused, the weight of your attention might crack the shell. Plunged through the crust, you might drown in depths so cold, so remote, that all the Past lay carved in tombstone marbles there. Ice water would syringe your veins.

We must try some other way, then," mused Mr. Villanazul. "Someone must be—sympathetic—with her." "What other way is there?" asked Mr. Gomez. "If only," figured Mr. Villanazul after a moment's thought, "if only there was a single man among us." He dropped that like a cold stone into a deep well. He let the splash occur and the ripples move gently out. Everybody sighed.

O Virgins sacrosanct! if ever hunger, Vigils, or cold for you I have endured, The occasion spurs me their reward to claim!

are accomplished in a blessed, warm mental fog, which the pitiless cold blasts of the father's analysis had blown away from the son.

I'm cold,' Snowden said softly, 'I'm cold.' 'You're going to be all right, kid,' Yossarian reassured him with a grin. 'You're going to be all right.' 'I'm cold,' Snowden said again in a frail, childlike voice. 'I'm cold.' 'There, there,' Yossarian said, because he did not know what else to say. 'There, there.' 'I'm cold,' Snowden whimpered. 'I'm cold.' 'There, there. There, there.

Man was matter, that was Snowden's secret. Drop him out a window and he'll fall. Set fire to him and he'll burn. Bury him and he'll rot, like other kinds of garbage. That was Snowden's secret. Ripeness was all. 'I'm cold,' Snowden said. 'I'm cold. 'There, there,' said Yossarian. 'There, there.

Nobody ever called me any OH MY GOD you mean that guy that one that set himself on FIRE ! As I said, fanatics. But he set himself on fire! Centuries of useless, obsessive waiting. Makes a human- HE SET HIMSELF ON FIRE! Maybe he was cold.

its somewhat austere and even forbidding limestone exterior

When she tipped her head and looked upward at the glowing dark blue dome pricked with its millions of lights, bigger and brighter than stars had ever been, she felt the mountains breathe in her face their ancient, frightening cold.

One must have a mind of winter.

We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in cold.

Rum makes a fine hot drink, a fine cold drink, and is not so bad from the neck of a bottle. —FORTUNE MAGAZINE, 1933

But the room is cold, the words in the books are cold; And the question of whether we get what we ask for Is absurd, unanswered by the sound of an unlatched door Rattling in wind, or the sound of snow on roofs, or glare Of the winter sun. What we have learned is not what we were told. I watch the snow, feel for the heartbeat that is not there.

I found out why cats drink out of the toilet. My mother told me it's because it's cold in there. And I'm like, "How did my mother know that?"

I didn't know it would be so cold." Though he remained unbending, poised as if to flee, Kris's voice was melodic. Sweet. Thorne's stomach clenched. Listening to him was like music.

I'm cold, Religiously cold.