Quotes About Winter

Along with rising and falling water, winter is the province of wind. When the sea-breath and mountain-roar bend the hemlocks of these hills, the birds hang on as best they can.

As I in hoary winter night stood shivering in the snow,Surprised was I with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was nearA pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air appear.

for the final lunge the boy whipped off his mitten and flung the ice-pips into the evil face. His voice echoed shrill through the cavern: "Brothers never more shall part: Melt the winter in his

Entonces repetí palabras que antes habían tenido un sentido pálido en mi experiencia. "Sufrirás", me decía, "sufrirás... sufrirás...sufrirás..." "Sufrirás... sufrirás..." "Sufrirás...", y la palabra se me caía de los labios. Así maduré todo el invierno infernal.

A leitura é prazer e alegria de estar vivo ou tristeza de estar vivo, e sobretudo é conhecimento de perguntas. [...] É necessário haver muitos livros, muitos pinheiros enfeitiçantes, para que velem de olhares avessos o livro que realmente importa, a porra da gruta da nossa desgraça, a flor mágica do inverno!

His novel or book of poems, decent, adequate, arises not from an exercise of style or will, as the poor unfortunate believes, but as the result of an exercise of concealment. There must be many books, many lovely pines, to shield from hungry eyes the book that really matters, the wretched cave of our misfortune, the magic flower of winter!

There must be many books, many lovely pines, to shield from hungry eyes the book that really matters, the wretched cave of our misfortune, the magic flower of winter!

Nelle notti d'inverno, non ci sarà più la luce dello stralisco? – disse Ganuan, voltandosi a guardare il prato spento. – Però ci saranno le stelle, padre, – disse Madurer.

The carriageway to the front door was wide, and graceful white birches lined it. In autumn they shed a carpet of gold on the road, and in winter, burdened with snow, they arched over it, a frosted white tunnel paned with glimpses of blue sky.

We are sweet preserves of song, stored away so that in the winter of our deaths you can taste again the tang of our summers.

Then silence, save for the rain thundering on the roof and splatting on the innyard mud. Silence, save for the soft crackling of the fire, and the distant music from the common room below. Silence but for unsteady footsteps making their way past our door. But most of all, the crashing silence in my heart where for so long Nighteyes' awareness had been a steady beacon in my darkness, a warmth in my winter, a guide star in my night.

Winter had harvested us and stored us here in the Great Hall.

I cherish a witch hazel kind of day, a scrap of color, a light in the window when winter is closing all around.

In winter, when the green earth lies resting beneath a blanket of snow, this is the time for storytelling. The storytellers begin by calling upon those who came before who passed the stories down to us, for we are only messengers.

The syrup we pour over pancakes on a winter morning is summer sunshine flowing in golden streams to pool on our plates.

Most of us laugh at the list first time through. One hundred and forty ways not to re-offend? Including such winners as call the police, take a cold shower, or my personal favorite, jump in the ocean in the middle of winter. I go with the usual: Wasn't alone with children, stayed out of bars, didn't drive aimlessly, didn't place high expectations on myself, and snapped a rubber band.

winter gone, mountains clear, water sparkles.

Afterward we recited the entire poem together. The bed is lit by moonlight I think it is the light of an early winter morning Looking up, I enjoy the full moon in the night sky Bending over, I miss my hometown We all know that poem is about a scholor who is traveling and missing his home, but on that night and forever after I believed it was about us. Snow Flower was my home and I was hers.

It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened.

Oh the weather outside is frightful...

There was no fuel now for the homes and apartments in Copenhagen, and the winter nights were terribly cold.

To use the machineries of justice to commit injustice is the deepest offense to the Father of Winter." He

Love is a flower that grows in any soil, works its sweet miracles undaunted by autumn frost or winter snow, blooming fair and fragrant all the year, and blessing those who give and those who receive.

The rooms were very still while the pages were softly turned and the winter sunshine crept in to touch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting.