Quotes About Winter

Do we not learn in the church that evil has a physical presence, that we may feel it like a cold winter or a coming storm? "Deliver us from evil!" We say it every night.

I came from Canada, where it's freezing cold for seven months out of the year.

En ce temps que j'ai dit devant, Sur le Noël, morte saison, Que les loups se vivent de vent Et qu'on se tient en sa maison, Pour le frimas, près du tison, Me vint un vouloir de briser La très amoureuse prison Qui faisoit mon cÅ"ur débriser.

Once on a dark winter's day, when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shop windows blazed with gas as they do at night, an odd-looking little girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through the big thoroughfares.

L.A. kills people.' Jacaranda said. 'You're lucky you're leaving. You'll be able to write.' She looked paler, going through another depression, smoking in bed in her lilac room. The walls were the color of her veins. She was getting too thin, even for the modeling. . .Jacaranda died last winter when the flowering trees were bare. You couldn't even tell which ones once cried the purple blossoms she named herself after.

During the ice storms and long bleak nights of winter, she'd tell me the mountains were like sleeping giants that'd come awake again soon. "God'll see to it." And God did. Those mountains always did wake up, without fail. Year after year, the earth came back to life again with what Granny called "God-green.

Don't eat the yellow snow.

On both sides of them lay a dense forest of towering evergreens. Ice was forming along the banks, which in places were strewn with rugged boulders or rose in steep, rocky upthrusts. As the afternoon wore on, the wind grew stronger and more bitter. Dark clouds closed in from the northwest. René muttered, "The snow, she come soon, I think.

Our winters are very long here, very long and very monotonous. But we don't complain about it downstairs, we're shielded against the winter. Oh, spring does come eventually, and summer, and they last for a while, but now, looking back, spring and summer seem too short, as if they were not much more than a couple of days, and even on those days, no matter how lovely the day, it still snows occasionally.

What am I doing in this eternal winter?

A picture of my existence... would show a useless wooden stake covered in snow... stuck loosely at a slant in the ground in a ploughed field on the edge of a vast open plain on a dark winter night.

These are the stories the Dogs tell, when the fires burn high and the wind is from the north.

I love snow; I love building snowman. The only thing I don't like is the cold - so if we could have a hot Christmas, that would be amazing.

Michigan, the state that invented winter.

Davis, a lifetime .300 hitter who twice won the National League batting title, came over to the White Sox from the Mets in a major trade last winter ("Mets ckoo!")

Bob Allison fouled one, took two balls, swung and missed, swung and missed, and winter descended on the northlands.

garden Materials needed Paper, felt-tip pens, pencils, ballpoint pens. Instructions The therapist leads the visualisation: Get into a comfortable position and close your eyes if you want to. Come with me. We are going into the garden. (PAUSE) It is morning in the middle of winter. (PAUSE) Put warm clothes on. (PAUSE) Coat. (PAUSE) Boots. (

Sad? — No. But I hate winter. I hate the snow. In weather like this, you'd really think that the world wasn't made for man and that we're here by accident.

It is growing cold. Winter is putting footsteps in the meadow. What whiteness boasts that sun that comes into this wood! One would say milk-colored maidens are dancing on the petals of orchids. How coldly burns our sun! One would say its rays of light are shards of snow, one imagines the sun lives upon a snow crested peak on this day. One would say she is a woman who wears a gown of winter frost that blinds the eyes. Helplessness has weakened me. Wandering has wearied my legs.

Then the night lessened, the clouds ashened slightly, and the men became starkly black and brown against the gray of the snow.

Outside, the snow drifted down the layers of air, flake by flake. Watching the snow glide down put Patrice into a trance

When it really turned cold, I caught the disease of unfixed dread. I was weary, bedraggled, and my brain had stalled

The cold was deeper, the dark blacker, the hard air reassuringly Minnesota. We

Nature seemed to have folded satisfied hands to rest, knowing that her long wintry slumber was coming upon her.