Quotes About Cold

It wasn't that cold--she'd thought to let the embers do for the night--but she felt the sudden need for the comfort of a fire, the assurance of its light.

Winter was coming; the

It should hurt, shouldn't it? Shouldn't it hurt to be ripped in half? But it didn't. It didn't hurt the least little bit. Cold. She felt only cold. But the warm rope of her guts laying against her face felt good. Warm. She took comfort in the warmth.

Were you proposing to shoot these people in cold blood, sergeant? Nossir. Just a warning shot inna head, sir.

The elevator shaft was a kind of heat sink. Hot food was cold by the time it arrived. Cold food got colder. No one knew what would happen to ice cream, but it would probably involve some rewriting of the laws of thermodynamics.

It didn't look like the kind of snow that whispers down gently in the pit of the night and in the morning turns the landscape into a glittering wonderland of uncommon and ethereal beauty. It looked like the kind of snow that intends to make the world as bloody cold as possible.

Erm.. dear, do I ride out for Apocalypses?' Mrs War took the lid off the saucepan and prodded viciously at something inside. 'No, dear,' she said firmly. 'You always come down with a cold.

Sorrow has a voice. It is the cold scream of silence turned inward.

Had she always been so insulated from human contact, like a bloom encased in frost?

She only basked in the warmth of his feeling, which was as a grateful blaze to one who is cold.

Joy Division sounded like Manchester: cold, sparse and, at times, bleak.

Meta-comedy is everywhere and always seems so cold and to me is really kinda snarky.

I tossed it on a pile with the coat, my stiff-with-cold jeans and the expensive scrap of silk that had been wedged up my ass for the past half hour.

A brief exploration of the bar's fridge turned up three tiny bottles of vodka and he used hem all. They were too cold and there was no lime, but today was obviously about hardships.

They were too cold and there was no lime, but today was obviously about hardships.

The skin on his palm was thicker than the hide on a man's heel, but across it and between the fingers were deep raw cracks from the cold and the salt which would never heal, not until he settled ashore. And that was not likely to be anytime soon, for when a man's got salt water in his blood and a sea wind in his lungs, neither wife nor land can keep him from the waves.

A stolen touch can never compete with a voluntary touch of hunger, passion, desire. The aria of choice is joyous, the cacophony of force brutal, ugly, and cold.

God, the floor is cold! It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! I just thought "God." I don't use that word. Do I believe? Have I found faith here, on my knees, now, at the end? That seems kind of hypocritical-like to me. Ain't dying a hypocrite.

Rage bubbles up inside me, cold, clear, and as psychotic as the carnage unfolding before my eyes.

Death is not seductive. It does not come silk-clad and sweet-smelling as I did for my chosen. It is lonely and cold and merciless. It takes everything from you, before it finally takes you.

Barrons is arrogant and cold. He's also wealthy, strong, brilliant, and a walking enigma. Most women seem to find him drop-dead sexy, too.

with a little penguin huddle of moles just above her hip, looking lost on that Arctic shelf.

Writing is like hunting. There are brutally cold afternoons with nothing in sight, only the wind and your breaking heart. Then the moment when you bag something big. The entire process is beyond intoxicating.

Ooh, James, are you selling your soul to a cold gun?