Quotes About Winter

ask the President and then tell the usher how many there will be. In the winter months,

I was grieving the way the earth seems to grieve for spring in the dead of winter, but I wasn't afraid, because nothing, I told myself, can take our halcyon days away.

In the streets of Hau-kai, we wait. Night comes, winter descends, The lights of the world grow cold. And, in this three-hundredth year From the ascendancy of Bilat, He will come who treads the dawn. Tramples the sun beneath his feet, And judges the souls of men. He will stride across the rooftops, And he will fire the engines of God.

They danced. For three long winter nights. They slept through the short times of light, curled in each other's company. She gave him gifts: a lapwing wrapped in feathers, beaded with frost, a bowl of bright rosehips.

During the winter people on the island either drink too much or read too much. Which are you?

O outono é a única estação civilizada. A primavera é um descontrole glandular da Natureza. O inverno é o preço que a gente paga para ter o outono, e por isso está perdoado. O verão é uma indignidade. [...] Clássicos ao pé do fogo, um vago cachorro e sherry seco contra o catarro. Um gentleman não deve suar, meu caro.

Over the river and through the wood, To grandfather's house we go The horse knows the way To carry the sleigh, Through the white and drifted snow.

I could smell his scent; a mixture of amber, honey and apples mixed with his own skin's oils and the brisk winter air. Something deep inside me responded to the fragrance. I felt as if I could lose myself in it. Wrap it around me like a cashmere shawl & be forever warmed.

Love is a myth.' 'Love is a myth,' Grandfather Trout said. 'Like summer.' 'What?' 'In winter,'Grandfather Trout said, 'summer is a myth. A report, a rumor. Not to be believed in. Get it? Love is a myth. So is summer.

About twenty years ago a man by the name of Duncan was caught with a truckload of marijuana near Winter Haven.

Rural life in the winter months was rugged: snow-blurred and alcohol-fueled, violent and fast.

It was the winter of Jack's senior year

What I mean is, I love winter, and when you really love something, then it loves you back, in whatever way it has to love. I didn't think that this was true, my seventeen years of experience had shown this to be much more false than true, but it was like every other thought and belief of Finny's: it should have been true.

The winter loves me', he retorted, and then, disliking the whimsical sound of that, added, 'I mean as much as you can say a season can love. What I mean is, I love winter, and when you really love something, then it loves you back, in whatever way it has to love.' I didn't think that this was true, my seventeen years of experience had shown this to be much more false than true, but it was like every other thought and belief of Finny's: it should have been true. So I didn't argue.

The ocean, throwing up foaming sun-sprays across some nearby rocks, was winter cold. This kind of sunshine and ocean, with the accumulating roar of the surf and the salty, adventurous, flirting wind from the sea, always intoxicated Phineas. He was everywhere, he enjoyed himself hugely, he laughed out loud at passing sea gulls. And he did everything he could think of for me.

The winter loves me," he retorted, and then, disliking the whimsical sound of that, added, "I mean as much as you can say a season can love. What I mean is, I love winter, and when you really love something, then it loves you back, in whatever way it has to love.

I didn't know why he had chosen me, why it was only to me that he could show the most humbling sides of his handicap. I didn't care. For the war was no longer eroding the peaceful summertime stillness I had prized so much at Devon, and although the playing fields were crusted under a foot of congealed snow and the river was now a hard gray-white lane of ice between gaunt trees, peace had come back to Devon for me.

uello che voglio dire è che io amo l'inverno, e quando ami qualcosa, ti ama indietro in qualsiasi modo debba amare.

Despite its abbreviated length, February's always struck me as an especially bleak month, at least in these parts. I know it's not the darkest month, and I know it's not the coldest or the snowiest month, but February is gray in a way I can't explain. In February, all the big happy holidays are gone, and it's weeks and weeks -months, even- until Easter and spring.

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.

The prediction of nuclear winter is drawn not, of course, from any direct experience with the consequences of global nuclear war, but rather from an investigation of the governing physics.

How many lessons of faith and beauty we should lose, if there were no winter in our year!

I used to love winter, and I would listen to it, drop by drop. Rain, rain like an appeal to a lover, Pour down my body! Winter was not lament pointing to the end of life. It was the beginning. It was hope. So what shall I do, as life falls like hair? What will I do this winter?

as an eternal visitor. No life and no death in what I sense as a bird passing beyond nature. when I embrace you… — Mahmoud Darwish, from "Maybe, Because Winter Is Late," The Butterfly's Burden . Copper Canyon Press, 2006