Quotes About Cold

On Sunday mornings, as the dawn burned into day, swarms of gulls descended on the uncollected trash, hovering and dropping in the cold clear light.

The nights were blinding cold and casket black and the long reach of the morning had a terrible silence to it.

Not so cold, some snow fell. I went inside the log cabin and said goodbye to Mother, she was so alike grandmother, just younger.

Our daughter was born in Chicago, and she's already showing it. The temperature has to be approaching zero for her to wear a hat.

Revenge is a dish that is best served cold.

You're gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul

I think my music's kind of cold, but I don't know if it's related to the weather. It might be because it's always grey [in Montreal], it's very depressing.

The ocean . . . cold and wild the surf, rushing in to overwhelm the beach, the wind, stinging my cheeks, enveloping me in total freedom.

Marry an outdoors woman. Then if you throw her out into the yard on a cold night, she can still survive.

I don't see how anybody could have a passion for nature without having an equally developed tolerance for the cold.

Is there anything whiter than winter snow?

The moon can never breathe, but it can take our breath away with the beauty of its cold, arid orb.

The hiss was now becoming a roar - the whole world was a vast moving screen of snow - but even now it said peace, it said remoteness, it said cold, it said sleep.

Despite a voluminous and often fervent literature on "income distribution," the cold fact is that most income is not distributed: It is earned.

It is deep winter with shivering cold air, but my heart is dancing with joy and spring flowers.

The individual seeks out the heat of the crowd, in this century, to protect himself against the cold emanating from the corpse of the world.

Cold hearts don't bleed. Still they pray for eternity, never seeing tomorrow.

We distance ourselves for protection, Wear scarves when it's cold. What seems most outlandish in our autobiography Is what really happened.

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark, Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.

I have eatenthe plumsthat were inthe iceboxand whichyou were probablysavingfor breakfastForgive methey were deliciousso sweetand so cold

By the road to the contagious hospitalunder the surge of the bluemottled clouds driven from thenortheast—a cold wind.

The Queen's Pride was his ship, and he loved her. (That was the way his sentences always went: It is raining today and I love you. My cold is better and I love you. Say hello to Horse and I love you. Like that.)

He hated winter. The same gray sky lay on the ground, day after day, gray as industrial smoke, and in the sky the ground floated like a street that's been salted, and his closets were cold, holes wore through his pockets, and he was lonely, indoors and out, with a loneliness like the loneliness of overshoes or someone else's cough.

brother? It is still light out. It is not yet reading time.' Tyrion looked guiltily at the copy of Maderion's Tales of the Caledorian Epoch that lay on the chipped table beside the bed. He walked over to the windows. The drapes were fusty and smelled of mould. Cold air whistled in through gaps in the shutters, despite the torn shreds of sacking he had stuffed into the gaps. There was no place in the old