Quotes About Snow

It's always snowing at the south pole of Enceladus.

Someone sent me a picture of Werdum on the ground after I hit him... There was 2:16 left, and the area code for Cleveland is 216. They played 'Believeland' that night, and the next day it snowed, and everyone said Hell froze over because the curse was broken.

it is the trees that capture my attention the most, and they lead me into complete silence. It's the patience of the quiet, laden with snow. The trees give me a glimpse into the cosmic patience of God. There among the trees I behold the Lord, the Creator of the trees.

Snow is falling outside and all is peaceful and still. In such moments it is possible to believe that the world could still be good.

The first gift of Christmas was love. A parent's love. Pure as the first snows of Christmas. For God so loved His children that He sent His son, that someday we might return to Him.

Paint ghosts over everything, the sadness of everything. We made ourselves cold. We made ourselves snow. We smuggled ourselves into ourselves. Haunted by each other's knowledge. To hide somewhere is not surrender, it is trickery. All day the snow falls down, all night the snow. I try to guess your trajectory and end up telling my own story. We left footprints in the slush of ourselves, getting out of there.

Tonight you're thinking of cities under crowns of snow and I stare at you like I'm looking through a window, counting birds.

It is too heavy, says the canvas. You lack restraint. I was sleeping in whiteness, drifts of snow, and you woke me and told me your dream, my blank face upturned, listening. You came to me while we were sleeping, we were both sleeping, and you asked me to hold this for you. I am holding this for you.

Now winter downs the dying of the year, And night is all a settlement of snow; From the soft street the rooms of houses show A gathered light, a shapen atmosphere, Like frozen-over lakes whose ice is thin And still allows some stirring down within.

Okay. Now you have to move your arms and legs." "I know how to make a snow angel." "Then do it! Otherwise, you're more like a chalk outline at a police crime scene.

What, are you doing? Aside from getting your sandwich cold." "I'm making a snow angel. Don't you know what that is?" "Yes, I know. But why? You must be freezing." "Not so much, actually. My face is a little, I guess.

Una mañana de febrero con un tiempo de perros -contra la ventana de la oficina batía un aguanieve que resbalaba blanca y húmeda por el cristal- el señor Buggage y la señorita Tottle ocupaban, como era habitual, sus respectivos puestos, absortos, incluso uno podría decir fascinados, por su trabajo.

There was nearly an inch of snow accumulated and Washington was rapidly sinking into hysteria.

To the Thawing Wind Come with rain, O loud Southwester! Bring the singer, bring the nester; Give the buried flower a dream; Make the settled snow-bank steam; Find the brown beneath the white; But whate'er you do to-night, Bathe my window, make it flow, Melt it as the ice will go; Melt the glass and leave the sticks Like a hermit's crucifix; Burst into my narrow stall; Swing the picture on the wall; Run the rattling pages o'er; Scatter poems on the floor; Turn the poet out of door.

The little fellow's afraid of the falling snow. He never saw it before. It isn't play   10 With the little fellow at all. He's running away. He wouldn't believe when his mother told him, 'Sakes, It's only weather.' He thought she didn't know!

You can't get too much winter in the winter.

And snow—snow is not my enemy, I tell him. Snow is God's way of telling people to slow down and rest and stay in bed for a day. And besides, snow always solves itself. Mixes with the leaves to form more earth, I tell him. Think compost, says I.

Here and there great branches had been torn away by the sheer weight of the snow, and robins perched and hopped on them in their perky conceited way, just as if they had done it themselves.

Better go ahead and dance your jig round that if you've got to, and get it over, and then perhaps we can go on and not waste any more time over rubbish-heaps. Can we EAT a doormat? or sleep under a door-mat? Or sit on a door-mat and sledge home over the snow on it, you exasperating rodent?

I love you as a sheriff searches for a walnut / That will solve a murder case unsolved for years / Because the murderer left it in the snow beside a window / Through which he saw her head, connecting with / Her shoulders by a neck, and laid a red /Roof in her heart. For this we lived a thousand years; / For this we love, and we live because we love, we are not /Inside a bottle, thank goodness! ----- from To You

Somebody who would go to Italy with you and get up on a Saturday morning and take you up in the mountains and get snowed on and come home and be filled up with it all.

Winter was every kid's favorite season in Kabul, at least those whose fathers could afford to buy a good iron stove. The reason was simple: They shut down school for the icy season. Winter to me was the end of long division and naming the capital of Bulgaria, and the start of three months of playing cards by the stove with Hassan, free Russian movies on Tuesday mornings at Cinema Park, sweet turnip qurma over rice for lunch after a morning of building snowmen.

With snow came the kites, once the rulers of Kabul's winter skies, now timid trespassers in territory claimed by streaking rockets and fighter jets.

Because when the spring comes it melts the snow one flake at a time...