Quotes About Snow

What is love without passion? - A garden without flowers, a hat without feathers, tobogganing without snow.

Whenever she turned her steep focus to me, I felt the warmth that flowers must feel when they bloom through the snow, under the first concentrated rays of the sun.

Not yesterday I learned to know The love of bare November days Before the coming of the snow.

couldn't imagine a worse crime scene than a snow-covered alleyway after dark. I'm sure one existed somewhere. I just couldn't imagine it.

Often? That's a relative concept when you're in here." He licked his lips. They were chapped, startlingly red against the snow white of his Methuselah beard.

But I would rather have snow. Snow is the on.y weather I really like. Nothing makes me less grumpy than snow. I can sit by a window for hours watching it fall. The silence of snowfall. You can use that. It's best when there's background lighting, for example a street lamp. Or when you go outside and let it flutter down on you. That's real riches, that is.

Esiste nel corpo la neve che non si squaglia in nessun ferragosto, rimane dentro il fiato come il mare dentro una conchiglia vuota.

E' una specie di sabato, la terra si riposa, nessuno la lavora. Noi siamo la neve, Iosèf, che ne dici? Noi ricopriamo Ièshu fino al tempo assegnato. [La faccia delle nuvole]

He brewed his tea in a blue china pot, poured it into a chipped white cup with forget-me-nots on the handle, and dropped in a dollop of honey and cream. He sat by the window, cup in hand, watching the first snow fall. "I am," he sighed deeply, "contented as a clam. I am a most happy man.

La neve cadde tutta la notte. Cadde senza fare rumore e coprì il terreno gelato e le foglie morte sotto l'acero, e piegò i rami delle conifere, e per ore e ore cadde come farina dalle nuvole alte color madreperla.

Sometimes the characters I find the most compelling are in independent movies. With independent scripts people can take more challenges.

I don't know why we sleep or wake or why one dreams a fast bombastic image and the other memory's faintest trace which anyway haunts the day, if you look hard through the flawed window glass you can begin to see the lightest rain or snow but it's not there, now I can see it on the books and on the walls, it's in my eyes, I shouldn't even mention it, yet do you see it.

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.

Snow pursued by the wind is not wholly unlike a retreating army. In the open field it ranges itself in ranks and battalions; where it can get a foothold it makes a stand; where it can take cover it does so. You may see whole platoons of snow cowering behind a bit of broken wall.

rolls, the snow fell hard—hard—piling on

The snow was coming down so hard. It looked like the flakes were hurrying to get out of the sky so the next ones would have room to fall.

Winter came down to our home one night Quietly pirouetting in on silvery-toed slippers of snow, And we, we were children once again.

Below us lay a valley white with snow. It was criss-crossed with lines, like a great cupped palm. But not even an expert seer would have had time to read the story of our future. Before we could get our bearings, my feet had quit the ground. Suddenly we were airborne and flying fast, carving a path between the rolling snow below and the glittering galaxies above.

I've been exploring different options for when I'm done skiing. I have the Turtle Ridge Foundation, which is helping a bunch of worthy causes around the Northeast. I've also started SkiSpace, which is an online social network that basically deals with all things based around any snow sport.

I have a ladybug on my wrist that I got when I was doing 'John Tucker Must Die,' and I have a tattoo on my ankle that's in Sanskrit that says 'Fearless.'

What are we going to do? Such a bad harvest last summer and too little snow now to irrigate the fields come spring …" "The world is protesting. It feels like a summer cloudburst coming, yet the hymns of the high holidays still ring in our ears. Can the calendar turn inside out? Can a year run backward?

Cabin and cosmos, sun and home, and a garden full of radishes and Swiss chard. So much I hadn't had for a long time, yet I missed Jens and the dogs and the feel of sea ice under me; I missed lions roaring and picking thorns from my feet in Africa. In both Africa and Greenland, I'd seen the two root causes of climate change: degraded and desertified earth caused by ineffectual rainfall, and the loss of albedo because of the disappearance of snow and ice.

I like snow and roses, calm and storm; I like to love, I like to hate. Every contradiction, every absurdity, every folly–I harbor them all.

Un rideau de flocons blancs ininterrompu miroitait sans cesse en descendant vers la terre; il effaçait les formes, poudrait les choses d'une mousse de glace; et l'on n'entendait plus, dans le grand silence de la ville calme et ensevelie sous l'hiver, que ce froissement vague, innommable et flottant de la neige qui tombe, plutôt sensation que bruit , entremêlement d'atomes légers qui semblaient emplir l'espace, couvrir le monde.