Quotes About Cold

He remembered waking up once, listening to the wind, thinking of all the dark and rushing cold outside and all the warmth of this bed, filled with their peaceful heat under two quilts, and wishing it could be like this forever.

There is nothing of God or Light in that heartless sound - it is all black winter and dark ice.

The night was cold, chilling the sweat on his face, but the air was as sweet and crisp as the first bite of a fall apple. Above him was a half-moon and what seemed like a trillion stars. To match the trillion pebbles, just as mysterious, that we walk over everyday, he thought. Mystery above, mystery below. Weight, mass, reality: mystery all around.

The sun loses its thin grip on the air first, turning it cold, making it remember that winter is coming and winter will be long. Thin clouds form, and the shadows lengthen out. They have no breadth, as summer shadows have; there are no leaves on the trees or fat clouds in the sky to make them thick. They are gaunt, mean shadows that bite the ground like teeth.

The art of making love, muffled up in furs, in the open air, with the thermometer at Zero, is a Yankee invention.

So when you're cold From the inside out And don't know what to do, Remember love and friendship, And warmth will come to you.

If I take offence easily; if I am content to continue in cold unfriendliness, though friendship be possible, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

You're a stone cold killer, Frank. You kill people for a living. And so does this German guy. You aren't heroes. You're what most people fear. You're the antitheses of a hero. You ever think of that?

again. It had gotten colder, but no better.

Cold sun flashed in the red-and-blue Costco sign, stirring within me an intense need to purchase forty-eight of something.

Revenge was a dish best eaten cold, but eight years between was arctic.

I'm in love with the modern worldMassachusetts when it's late at nightAnd the neon when it's cold outsideI've got the radio on

The day itself was as miserable and raw as one can imagine in Yorkshire County in March: bitterly cold, with powerful winds and rain. For good measure, there was also hail. And yet what was taking place was so important to the future of the nation that four thousand freeholders showed up and stayed.

It was eleven forty-five, overcast, fourteen degrees above zero, and damp. Cold for any month of the year, even January. The forecast called for a major snowstorm. They said it was moving in from Chicago. Ten to fifteen inches by nightfall. It was not the best day to be standing outside, but the congressman from Arizona was oblivious to the weather.

Inspiration was a temperamental guest. It dropped in unannounced, then left without so much as a goodbye, slipping out a window in the dead of night or sauntering out the front door, leaving the house empty, drafty, and cold.

I must confess a shameful secret: I love Chicago best in the cold.

Nights're cold now. Nights g'cold, y'get sick. S'what happens.

The silence was deafening, pressing more heavily on Hollyleaf's ears than the stones that pinned her to the cold floor.

She woke shivering beneath a light coat of frost, missing the warmth of her kits.

The cold that gripped her seemed at last to let her go. She closed her eyes and in her last moment felt only warmth. Only love.

Graystripe's thick gray fur was ruffled up against the cold.

If the cold had reached this deep into the forest, it would be bitter on the high moor. And with prey so scarce, the moor cats would surely freeze or starve if they stayed in their hollow. They'd be safer here, sheltered by the trees, hunting together, as Fluttering Bird had ordered.

Love's a thin Diet, nor will keep out Cold.

In the winter she curls up around a good book and dreams away the cold.