Quotes About Snow

Some people can never learn to ski powder snow without exerting tremendous effort and strength because they allow their rational, left-brain hemisphere to control the entire situation.

A Snow Joint. Might have known he'd be running a dive for hop-heads too.' This joint catered to Disease Collectors, the most hopeless of neurotic-addicts. They lay in their hospital beds, suffering mildly from illegally induced para-measles, para-flu, para-malaria; devotedly attended by nurses in starched white uniforms, and avidly enjoying their illegal illness and the attention it brought.

My breath came out in a fog and rose into the milky sky. Snow fell on my eyelashes, and all of Brooklyn turned white, a world in a globe. Every snowflake that I caught was a miracle unlike any other.

Snow in April means a hot summer to come.

Snow made him feel like crying sometimes-just the first flakes, the purest stuff.

saw the first fat flakes pass like small shadows across the office window and expressed her disapproval of nature itself with a loud clucking of the tongue. Impatiently

And where there is snow most people recognize the fact of winter and take more than half-hearted measures to keep their houses warm.

It's starting to snow," Kitty announced excitedly. "Do you suppose we will all be able to get back home all right? Washington gets so confused when it snows.

Isern squelched up the bank with Rikke's dripping trousers. 'Clean as new snow! Your only stench now shall be of youth and disappointment.

Er war stets so ruhig und gelassen wie frisch gefallener Schnee

Why are there so many romantic songs about the spring? I hate the spring. The snow melts, and everything smells like thawing dog shit.

Vic twisted her head to peer back over her shoulder, wanting another look, and saw three other children emerging out of the alley behind her. One appeared to be holding a scythe; two of them were barefoot. Barefoot in the snow.

I understand Gil has a quote by Graham Greene on his chest," Renée said. She was studying a bit of wet snow as it slid off the tip of one boot. Her voice was calculatedly indifferent. "Something about the nature of imprisonment.

The snow wasn't deep - in many places its crust was firm enough that they actually walked on top of it - but the wind was surgical, a precision instrument with needles for teeth, and it found even the tiniest exposed places on her skin, attacking them.

When it snows, that's just God's way of still not existing.

I think Michigan keeps you sane and on an even keel through the ups and downs. In Michigan, I do fireworks, shovel snow and live life.

One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.

It was snowing. It was always snowing at Christmas. December, in my memory, is white as Lapland, though there were no reindeers. But there were cats.

Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steadily falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.

All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged, fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find.

The crisp path through the field in this December snow, in the deep dark, where we trod the buried grass like ghosts on dry toast.

Our snow was not only shaken from whitewash buckets down the sky, it came shawling out of the ground and swam and drifted out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees; snow grew overnight on the roofs of houses like a pure and grandfather moss, minutely white-ivied the walls and settled on the postman, opening the gate, like a dumb, numb thunderstorm of white, torn Christmas cards.

Don't eat yellow snow.

Fat Angie led the pack of runners as the town went from yawn to full awake. Dryfalls was abuzz with the sight. Snow sticking to the sidewalks, windshields, rooftops. Still they all ran. Together.