Quotes About Snowflakes

Words have always swirled around me like snowflakes-each one delicate and different, each one melting untouched in my hands.

the wet brush of snowflakes was like your kisses everywhere ...

In the baby's room The city lights are Milky In the curtains… Breath Gentle as rain, Sleep Quiet as snowflakes

Tristen shook his head, his white hair shedding snowflakes as if it were made of snow itself.

The woods hung dark on the hills; above, the sky violet, specked with minute feathery clouds, white as snowflakes.

I feel all agitated, like one of those snow globes you see resting peacefully on shop counters. I was perfectly happy being an ordinary, dull little Swiss village. But now Jack Harper's come and shaken me up, and there are snowflakes all over the place, whirling around until I don't know what I think anymore. And bits of glitter, too. Tiny bits of shiny, secret excitement.

Ashes keep drifting onto my paper, charcoal snowflakes on a minefield of blanks, words bouncing around off each other uttering impotent images of sight sound terror life crying for recognition, narcissistic eunuchs reflecting my face, ruining the snowfield.

Winter, and You are the only Possibilities in this World. Paper, pen, Teeth, bones, and skin, The future is now. How will you make This work, snowflakes Against the window, Every ounce of pain Like blood on my lips.

Yes, the sky was now a devastating, home-cooked red. The small German town had been flung apart one more time. Snowflakes of ash fell so lovelily you were tempted to stretch out your tongue to catch them, taste them. Only, they would have scorched your lips. They would have cooked your mouth.

She was spirit and presence, as rare and brilliant as snowflakes in sunlight, and he could not bring himself to harm her.

Le parole mi turbinano intorno da sempre come fiocchi di neve, tutte delicate e diverse, e tutte mi si sciolgono in mano prima che le tocchi.

It was Christmas Eve. Big snowflakes fluttered slowly through the air like white feathers and made all of the Heavenly Valley smooth and white and quiet and beautiful. Tall fir trees stood up to their knees in snow and their outstretched hands were heaped with it. Those that were bare of leaves wore soft white fur on their scrawny, reaching arms and all the stumps and low bushes had been turned into fat white cupcakes.

Far off down the road, through the lazily drifting snowflakes, they could hear the merry sound of sleigh bells. Their gay little tinkling flying ahead of the sleigh and lighting up the night with sparks.

I love snow, snow, and all the forms of radiant frost.

I can't understand why God made every tiny snowflake different and all these men the same.

The snowflakes came down like little bits of newspaper

It was a dark day. A chill wind blew snowflakes against the window of Mr Norrell's library where Childermass sat writing business letters. Though it was only ten o'clock in the morning the candles were already lit. The only sounds were the coals being consumed in the grate and the scratch of Childermass's pen against the paper.

But when he spoke, that great voice of his poured out of his chest in words like the snowflakes of winter, and then no other mortal could in debate contend with Odysseus. Nor did we care any longer how he looked.

...the wet brush of snowflakes was like your kisses everywhere ...

I love it when the snowflakes are flying like butterflies.

Snowflakes were dancing outside Neva's window when she awakened Sunday morning. She watched them land on the glass, one second resembling minute delicate doilies and the next teardrops as they inside warmth reach through the glass and melted them.

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

The most delightful advantage of being bald one can hear the snowflakes.

The most delightful advantage of being bald - one can hear snowflakes.