Quotes About Snow

The coal-black gloom of the darkest night had descended on the terraces of the most beautiful spot on earth, St Vladimir's Hill, whose brick-paved paths and avenues were hidden beneath a thick layer of virgin snow.

She tells her love while half asleep, In the dark hours, With half-words whispered low: As Earth stirs in her winter sleep And puts out grass and flowers Despite the snow, Despite the falling snow.

Snow, here?" Eric was as delighted as a child. "I love snow!" Why was I not surprised? "Maybe we will get snowed in together," he said suggestively, waggling his blond eyebrows.

The two things, love and snow, that make the world look fresh again

Although I love snow, it messes things up terribly around Seattle, with all of our hills. I worry about my loved ones driving.

Even in the dark there was a light of some kind, as there ever is over snow; and it seemed as though the snow-flurries and the wreaths of mist took shape as of women with trailing garments.

stepping forth to replenish it, for now the snow came in flying sweeps

Do you know what they say about the deep, deep snow?" "What?" "It hides every secret. It covers every sin.

Colder than the winter wind howling its dirge through the Southwest Forest. Colder than the snow blanketing tree, rock and earth in its silent shroud. Colder than ice that lay on water and hung in shards from branches and bushes. Colder than these was the smile of Ferahgo the Assassin!

would be if someone came to find me.. if I froze in the snow with angel wings pressed into the ground.. my lips a pretty purple-blue.. my eyelids pink and my skin pale.. how beautiful they would say I was.. how perfect.

No fooling, Keyes thought. He had arrived in Miami in 1979 from a small newspaper in suburban Baltimore. There was nothing original about why he'd left for Florida—a better job, no snow, plenty of sunshine. On his first day at the Miami Sun, Keyes had been assigned the desk next to Skip Wiley—the newsroom equivalent of Parris Island. Keyes covered cops for a while, then courts, then local politics.

The landscape was snow and green ice on broken mountains. These weren't old mountains, worn down by time and weather and full of gentle ski slopes, but young, sulky, adolescent mountains. They held secret ravines and merciless crevices. One yodel out of place would attract, not the jolly echo of a lonely goatherd, but fifty tons of express-delivery snow.

It didn't look like the kind of snow that whispers down gently in the pit of the night and in the morning turns the landscape into a glittering wonderland of uncommon and ethereal beauty. It looked like the kind of snow that intends to make the world as bloody cold as possible.

The snow had done what even wizards and the Watch couldn't do, which was clean up Ankh-Morpork. It hadn't had time to get dirty. In the morning it'd probably look as though the city had been covered in coffee meringue, but for now it mounded the bushes and trees in pure white.

Here was another item detailing the wrecking of a vessel in ice and snow off Prince's Bay on Staten Island.

It's beautiful, dulcea??," he said, his tone awed. "Do you see? Beautiful." "What is?" "The snow. The night." His arms tightened. "You." I eyed him warily. "Thanks?

Chapter 1 In the bitter cold of a late December night, the gargoyle's sharp gaze scanned restlessly over the deserted streets of Dublin. Not far below, the clock in the tower of St. Patrick's Cathedral began to strike midnight. The sound of the bell reverberated on a breeze brittle with the promise of snow, skittering among the city's chimneys and across frost-kissed slate roofs. Very soon, the rhythm was picked up by other clocks elsewhere in the sleeping city.

The sound of the bell reverberated on a breeze brittle with the promise of snow, skittering among the city's chimneys and across frost-kissed slate roofs.

snow had wondrously returned. It pleased her to see anew the draped quality in the air, the muslin white descending, the animation, the plenitude. The symbol suggested itself – that there might be a white-washing now, and a more complete covering over. Snow is consolation, she thought; snow is this padding and cladding, this lush erasure of signs. She was surprised at how rested and serene she felt.

Domingo, ese día en que haces todas esas cosas culturales en medio de la nieve mientras la gente casada se queda en la cama. Todas esas cosas culturales que enriquecen tu mente y al mismo tiempo te destrozan la vida porque ya nunca serás capaz de casarte con alguien que no sea de Nueva York.

The snow turned powdery and deep. Each wading step became a struggle out on the river, so vast and utterly indifferent to the progress of a lone woman and her string of dogs.

I hope the snow covers everything so all the footsteps are silenced, and the whole city can be at peace.

The night was alive. So thickly was the snow falling that, brushing against a human face in its descent, it resembled the fur of a great beast. The fur was less cold than suffocating: it occupied space normally taken up by air and sound. But when the sledge stopped, the staid brazen tongue of a bell could be distantly heard.

And I knew you, a swelling in the heart, A silence in the heart, the wild wind-blown grass Burning–as the sun falls below the earth– Brighter than a bed of lilies struck by snow. — Brigit Pegeen Kelly, from "Elegy," The Orchard: Poems (BOA Editions Ltd., 2004)