Quotes About Winter

Then coffin, black with silver handles with the dead boy in a black velvet suit. If you're never gonna sweat why not go out in winter style?

According to the Persian seer Avicenna, whose 'Canon of Medicine' Marjan often consulted, fenugreek is the first stop to curing winter chills. Combined with the hearty kidney beans and succulent meat of the herb stew, it made for an excellent 'garm', or hot, meal.

On a bright winter morning in 1966, seizing another cigarette from the pack on her metal desk and igniting it with a quick snap of her lighter, she mused, "Of course, somebody's gonna get George sooner or later. I've accepted that. He's gonna get it. My only consolation is, when it happens, he'll be doing the only thing he's ever cared about doing anyway.

In the afternoons, in the long pre-nights to Lima's winter, Herr Oswald Teller, from his mildewy room, flooded the house with music and homesickness and geniality. Liquefied Mozart poured down the staircase and formed puddles in the hollows like a torrent of rain that had soaked through the roof.

When it is winter and we must walk in the blizzard snow do not our fingers and toes whisper death And when winter is at last over. . .can we not hear our bellies whisper death to us In the dark don't we know And when we are paralyzed by nightmares We know what you are. With our first cries we rail against you. We see you in every drop of blood in every tear.

Passover and Easter are the only Jewish and Christian holidays that move in sync, like the ice skating pairs we saw during the Winter Olympics.

New Yorkers who had gone to bed on Sunday evening to the sound of rain were startled on Monday morning to find snow sifting in through cracks around their windows and piling up in front of their doors so fast that even those who left home at dawn had to dig their way out.

A fist, delicate and lily white, punched out of the snow and smacked Daniel in the nose. He jerked backward, his feet slipped, and he landed on his backside. He looked at the hole in the snow made by the fist and saw Grace's cherry-red nose poking out of the snowdrift. He suspected his nose was now the same color, and not because of the cold. "Well, it's certainly nice to see you boys." Grace smiled and pulled her nose back out of sight.

Of winters lifeless world each tree. Now seems a perfect part; Yet each one holds summers secret. Deep down within its heart.

An old man loved is winter with flowers

An old man loved is a winter with flowers

I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on white.

He looked gloomily out of the misty window, opaque with the breath of himself and an elderly Indian officer, who was his only companion, and watched the fleeting landscape, which had a certain phantom-like appearance in its shroud of snow. He wrapped himself in the vast folds of his railway rug, with a peevish shiver, and felt inclined to quarrel with the destiny which compelled him to travel by an early train upon a pitiless winter's day.

Snow was falling, so much like stars filling the dark trees that one could easily imagine its reason for being was nothing more than prettiness.

The twilight struck chilly as he went outside. He experienced for the first time that special dread brought by the first touch of winter to lovers who have nowhere to meet except out of doors.

We started off, he and I, and the girl between us. She shivered as the cold struck her; he pulled the sheepskins higher, and put his arm with a fold of his cloak about her shoulders. I felt a sudden rush of the past upon me; for a moment grief pierced me like a winter night; yet it came to me like an old grief, I had suffered it long since and now it was behind me.

It does not hit you until later. The fact that you were essentially dead does not register until you begin to come alive. Frostbite does not hurt until it starts to thaw. First it is numb. Then a shock of pain rips through the body. And then, every winter after, it aches.

Las sombras son pasadizos hacia el mundo de la noche, del invierno, el país de los muertos

Wintery day, On my horse A frozen shadow.

Come, let's go Snow-viewing Till we're buried.

Come, let's go snow-viewing till we're buried.

I went to a snow-viewing party.

Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.

Under the Greenwood Tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see no enemy But winter and rough weather.