Quotes About Snow

I watch the springs, the summers, the autumns; And when comes the winter snow monotonous, I shut all the doors and shutters To build in the night my fairy palace.

In February, the overcast sky isn't gloomy so much as neutral and vague. It's a significant factor in the common experience of depression among the locals. The snow crunches under your boots and clings to your trousers, to the cuffs, and once you're inside, the snow clings to you psyche, and eventually you have to go to the doctor. The past soaks into you in this weather because the present is missing almost entirely.

Eternal snows are at the top. Eyes of beautifull are at the top. (Neiges éternelles sont au sommet. - Yeux de la belle sont au sommet.)

The mark in the snow shows a weight. Who refuses his choices refuses oneself. (La marque dans la neige vit un poids. Se refuse qui refuse ses choix)

External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often "came down" handsomely, and Scrooge never did.

Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, Their beards of icicles and snow...

The beginning of spring training each year has always been a moment of hope, a reassurance that the landscape of snow and gray skies and barren trees will soon pass, and the world will again be green.

...since a lunch was cancelled because of the snow, I was suddenly given a few hours of unexpected time and managed to get down a poem that had been pursuing me for days.

Winter surfaces in the poet by late summer, and spring is already in his inkpot with the first snow.

To live anywhere in the world of A.D. 1955 and be against equality because of race or color is like living in Alaska and being against snow.

The snow is sparkling like a million little suns.

Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go? Or are ye angels, bearing home The host unseen Of truant spirits, to be clad Again in green?

The awesome silence of the place crept up on her. The spruce and pines, all still laden with snow, spread their limbs in a frozen ballet, breathing a ghostly incense from dark, arid chapels sheltered by their branches.

Another visitor described them as "midget hells, where one lies awake and sweats the first half of the night, and frequently between midnight and dawn undergoes a fierce siege of heat-provoking nightmares." They seemed to be "designed by Detroit architects who probably couldn't envision a land without snow."19 Ford managers, said the priest, "never really figured out what country they were in.

The Balti had as many names for rock as the Inuit have for snow.

Letter 17 Morning. The snow was falling outside. There was a white silence. My mother and I sat facing my father at the dining room table. There was something impenetrable about his gaze. It was like pack ice. And the ice was thickening. I could barely see into him. I knew. And they knew that I knew. He was broken. I did not even need to look at him. I could feel his brokenness all thorough the room.

Les anges les anges dans le ciel L'un est vêtu en officier L'un est vêtu en cuisinier Et les autres chantent Bel officier couleur du ciel Le doux printemps longtemps après Noël Te médaillera d'un beau soleil D'un beau soleil Le cuisinier plume les oies Ah! tombe neige Tombe et que n'ai-je Ma bien-aimée entre mes bras

The only piece of home Ofelia had been able to take with her were some of her books. She closed her fingers firmly around the one on her lap, caressing the cover. When she opened the book, the white pages were so bright against the shadows that filled the forest and the words they offered granted shelter and comfort. The letters were like footprints in the snow, a wide white landscape untouched by pain, unharmed by memories too dark to keep, too sweet to let go of.

When she opened the book, the white pages were so bright against the shadows that filled the forest and the words they offered granted shelter and comfort. The letters were like footprints in the snow, a wide white landscape untouched by pain, unharmed by memories too dark to keep, too sweet to let go of.

Winter was coming.

His soul swooned softly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

Sua alma desmaiava lentamente, enquanto ele ouvia a neve cair suave através do universo, cair brandamente, como se lhes descesse a hora final, sobre todos os vivos e todos os mortos.

Su alma se desvaneció lentamente al escuchar el dulce descenso de la nieve a través del universo, su dulce caída, como el descenso de la última postrimería, sobre todos los vivos y los muertos.