Quotes About Winter

Love is like a season, it ebbs and it flows, sometimes we're like Summer, Fall and Winter, but it's Spring that I long to know.

Lovers, forget your love, And list the love of these, She a window flower, And he a winter breeze.

Following dark winter's strife, a warm air rises, teemed with life. Birth, rebirth, as the waiting die. Old love, new love sprouts wings to fly.

Deb and I were married on a snowy night - wind cross-wove a veil of snow for her then threw confetti at us as we left the lighted church...

In a way winter is the real spring the time when the inner things happen the resurge of nature.

Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.

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.

He withers all in silence, and in his hand Unclothes the earth and freezes up frail life.

And for the season it was winter, and they that know the winters of that country know them to be sharp and violent, and subject to cruel and fierce storms.

There is no season such delight can bring As summer, autumn, winter and the spring.

O but we dreamed to mendWhatever mischief seemedTo afflict mankind, but nowThat winds of winter blowLearn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.

Old age isa flight of smallcheeping birdsskimmingbare treesabove a snow glaze.

O Winter ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.

A friend for adversity is as proper as fire is for a winter's day.

For a while, every day, even though the snow was piled and the sky dead and the winter wind was blowing, I watched for my aunt to come again and bring me a book like my ma'd said she would. She never came.

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.

Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snowflakes fall, each one a gem.

Cork wished there were a forecast for his spirit. He felt the dark and the cold penetrating deep in him. He wondered when there would be warmth again, when there would be light.

Winter was gray and mean upon the city and every night was a package of cold bleak hours, like the hours in a cell that had no door.

Pale winter sun Is beatin' the ground Why'm I throwin' away The best thing that I've found My young heart's in tatters and I'm sure That it will be a long time healing It's so hard to see what I'm doing this for When loneliness is all that I'm feeling

To deny that there was this dark side of life would be like pretending that the cold of winter was somehow only a temporary illusion, a way station on the way to the higher "reality" of long, warm, pleasant summers. But summer, it turned out, was no more real than the snow that melted in wintertime.

He hoped it would snow recklessly and bring to the island the impossible winter purity, so rare and precious, he remembered fondly from his youth.

today and in a good winter mood, someone not subject to seasonal affective disorder, someone with a generous

Every Canadian winter was a mortal challenge to its habitants.