Quotes About Snow

The snow moved a little and gave me a void in front of my face - air for a moment. Most importantly it kept me from panicking, and let me open my eyes. There was a dim blue-grey light. I could hear Arsibalt saying Just enough to read by! and Lio answering If only you'd thought to bring a book.

Wow, this is so great. Snow in New York, isn't it romantic? Only if you love empty theaters.

I don't remember any snow in all of the Torah. The Lord probably doesn't even go to places where it snows.

y más pálido que la Muerte follándose un muñeco de nieve.

Some miles to the North, a ring of mountains rose out of the clouds. The peaks were clad in snow and ice, and together they looked like an ancient, jagged crown resting atop the layers of mist. The eastward-facing scarps shone brilliantly in the light of the morning sun, while long blue shadows cloaked the western sides and stretched dwindling into the distance, tenebrous daggers upon the billowy, snow-white plain.

I remember the old northern legend of how God created the taiga while he was still a child. There were few colors, but they were childishly fresh and vivid, and their subjects were simple. Later, when God grew up and became an adult, he learned to cut out complicated patters from his pages and created many bright birds. God grew bored with his former child's world and he threw snow on his forest creation and went south forever.

You are my song, my dark blue dream Of doves, of winter's drowsy drone, And sleighs that slow and golden go Through gray blue shadows on the snow.

As a girl, she'd waited impatiently for this unexpected weather, prayed for it for months, and no wonder. Covered in snow, Firefly Lane looked like something out of a fairy tale. The kind of place where nothing could ever go wrong, where a girl should be able to simply tell her family that she'd changed her mind.

A loss is inevitable, like snow in winter. True champions learn to dance through the storm.

All evening long, real snow would fall from the ceiling to glitter on the lashes of dancing girls and ardent boys, but Neve and the Dreamer didn't linger. They had other things to do: *all* of them. All the things, dreamed and undreamed, in the depth and breadth of the whole spinning world.

Curious. (You know, if curious means "impossible" or "freaky" or…"indelibly awesome.") And now my head feels all full of moonlight or starlight or something. Or snow. My head feels like a snow globe that's been shaken, and glitter is swirling around in it like unmoored stars.

It seemed like just another Monday, innocent but for its essential Mondayness, not to mention its Januaryness. It was cold, and it was dark—in the dead of winter the sun didn't rise until eight—but it was also lovely. The falling snow and the early hour conspired to paint Prague ghostly, like a tintype photograph, all silver and haze.

Det som göms i snö kommer upp i tö (s. 325, ett svenskt ordspråk av okänt ursprung).

The snow is sparkling like a million little suns.

His beauty did not blaze like Will's did in fierce colors and repressed fire, but it had its own muted perfection, the loveliness of snow falling against a silver gray sky.

The witchlight made his skin paler, his eyes more intently blue. They were the color of the water in the North Atlantic, where the ice drifted on its blue-black surface like the snow clinging to the dark glass pane of a window.

As Magnus turned to walk away from the church, he heard the sound of violin music carried to him on the cloudy London air, and remembered another night, a night of ghosts and snow and Christmas music, and Will standing on the steps of the Institute, watching Magnus as he went.

All the boundaries of the world disappeared after a good snow. Nathan had always noticed that. The seemingly sturdy, dependable dividing lines between his yard and his neighbor's yard, or the sidewalk and the street, simply disappeared. Erased by white. As if the world were advising him not to put too much faith in such markings. That perhaps these lines had never been entirely real to begin with.

Perhaps all a Tsaritsa is is a beautiful cold girl in the snow, looking down at someone wretched, and not yielding.

Yes, Marya thought, the smell of woodsmoke and old snow pushing back her long black hair. Magic does that. It wastes you away. Once it grips you by the ear, the real world gets quieter and quieter, until you can hardly hear it at all.

Hello old friend," he greeted it, "how strange for us to meet again, like this, with the snow blowing so outside." "You know my...my wrench?" "Of course I know it. It was not a wrench when we were last acquainted, but ones friends may change clothes and still one knows them.

Opium ain't got nothing on the promise of tomorrow turning up better than today. Snow

It was closing in on midnight, the kind of midnight you only get on Uranus after a three day bender. Ultramarine fog reeking of ethanol and neon and some passing whore's rosewater. Snow piled up like bodies in tbhe street. Twenty-seven moons lighting up what ought to be a respectable witching hour so you can't help but see yourself staring back in every slick glowpink skyscraper.

I was meeting a mountain. I meant to kiss her in secret. I meant to wed her under the midnight dark. The prettiest mountain you ever saw, sparkling with snow in all the right places, rich with granite and tourmaline and silver, sturdy and sensible and weathered by experience of eons. When she saw me, my mountain's pine trees bristled and the wind in her heights whistled my name. When I saw her, I felt rivers break through the rock of my heart and carve me into a new shape.