Quotes About Cold

After the bone-grinding cold of the lands beyond the Wall, the caves were blessedly warm, and when the chill crept out of the rock the singers would light fires to drive it off again. Down here there was no wind, no snow, no ice, no dead things reaching out to grab you, only dreams and rushlight and the kisses of the ravens. And the whisperer in darkness.

For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman's hands are warm.

Everyone talks about snows forty foot deep, and how the ice wind comes howling out of the north, but the real enemy is the cold.

The pale sword came shivering through the air

His hands were cold as ice, but he saved us from the dead men, him and his ravens, and he brought us here on his elk." "His elk?" said Bran, wonderstruck. "His elk?" said Meera, startled. "His ravens?" said Jojen. "Hodor?" said Hodor.

Why should death make a man truthful, or even clever? The dead are likely dull fellows, full of tedious complaints- the ground's too cold, my gravestone should be larger, why does he get more worms than I do...

The man is cold, brooding, sullen, deaf to humor. And those are his good points.

The day was grey and bitter cold, and the dogs would not take the scent.

The fire that burns against the cold.

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer.

The cold gods," she said. "The ones in the night. The white shadows.

And Boucard desisted, probably because like everyone else he was deeply impressed by this man who had laid all ghosts, who had lost all shadows, and who stared you in the eyes with cold serenity.

It was a voice full of light and dark. Light not only as it glimmers, but also as it glares. Dark not only as it brings cold and fear, but also as it gives rest and shade.

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!

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?

Hockey captures the essence of the Canadian experience in the New World. In a land so inescapably and inhospitably cold, hockey is the dance of life, and an affirmation that despite the deathly chill of winter we are alive.

I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot.

Oh, the long and dreary Winter! Oh, the cold and cruel Winter!

Cold as a bitch's tit." "It's 'witch's.'" "Why? Doesn't matter," Eve said quickly. "Neither way makes sense. If somebody's a witch, why do they put up with cold tits? I'm a bitch, and twenty-four hours ago, my tits were plenty warm.

It's a fucking pharmaceutical conspiracy, Eve. We've wiped out just about every known plague, disease, and infection. Oh, we come up with a new one every now and again, to give the researchers something to do. But none of these bright-eyed medical types, none of the medi-computers can figure out how to cure the common fucking cold.

she loved fall the best because its breezes were summer heat wrapped in cold, as opposed to spring, which was winter cold veneered with warmth.

His eyes were the color of the scrim that forms on street puddles in January. A cold and dirty gray.

Yeah, but going by that cold tone of voice, she had to wonder whether the best-laid plans of mice and vampires, blah, blah, blah...

Loneliness was just like winter, he decided. Cold and pervasive, trapping you inside your own head because what was outside was so inhospitable. Was he never going to be warm again?