Best 828 quotes in «cold quotes» category

I'm okay,' [Mulder] said, shifting over to make room for Scully. 'Just thinking.' 'Out here, that'll get you pneumonia.' 'Is that a doctor's truth thing?'... 'No, it's cold, that's what it is. God, Mulder, why can't you ever have a mood someplace warm?

I must confess, that my heart is like a frozen lake, only pretends to be firm, to shroud its tearful ache. So tread over this heart, as often as you like, but one of these days, if it feels your warmth strike; its cold, thin surface will abruptly break asunder, and then it won’t resist from pulling you deep under.

Isn't that how most conflicts start? With a gross miscalculation of the possibilities of escalation? A village first, then a peninsula, and then a continent? It is cold up here, commander. Cold and distant. Just a point in space from their viewpoint - valuable but aesthetically detached.

It is better to have a warm than cold heart.

In all the world there is no desolation more complete than the polar night. It is a return to the Ice Age— no warmth, no life, no movement. Only those who have experienced it can fully appreciate what it means to be without the sun day after day and week after week. Few men unaccustomed to it can fight off its effects altogether, and it has driven some men mad.

In judging of that tempestuous wind called Euroclydon," says an old writer - of whose works I possess the only copy extant - "it maketh a marvelous difference, whether thou lookest out at it from a glass window where the frost is all on the outside, or whether thou observest it from that sashless window, where the frost is on both sides, and of which the wight Death is the only glazier."... Euroclydon, nevertheless, is a mighty pleasant zephyr to any one in-doors, with his feet on the hob quietly toasting for bed.

In the middle of the night, I saw chaos bleeding out of darkness and peace. Everything that was said and seen before seemed like a paradox. I saw the graves of lies breaking open and the truth crawling out silently into the cold hearts.

it's colder than a witch's tit in a steel bra

It’s feels like zero out there!” Lola stamped her knee-high boots on the doormat, leaving bits of frozen slush to settle into its bristly fibers. “With the wind chill, yeah.” Lola flipped the fur-lined hood of her high-end winter coat. “I ignore that wind chill stuff. It’s either freezing or it isn’t.

It's only November, and I can't remember the last time I was warm. If someone had a gun to my head and was forcing me to choose between braving the five-minute walk to Soupe au Chocolat and murdering a kitten, I'd have to think long and hard. I'd probably end up under the frozen cafe awning, but only because I want to play Emilio's mandolin more than anything else in the world right now, and I don't even know where to find a kitten. In Miami they're everywhere, but here, I think they've all been murdered by the cold already.

It's only the beginning of January, but some daffodils and snowdrops have made it through the earth and stand wetly in little rows by the path. The bus stop is depressing; there's a line of people looking as cold and fragile as the line of flowers [...]

It's that magnificent interlude in New York between winter and spring, when you feel the warmth stirring, and you remember that the dreadful naked trees will inevitably sprout tiny green buds, soon. Everyone rushes into the parks, the streets--and you even forget that, very soon , summer will come scorchingly, dropping from the sky like a blanket of steam...

It's true. I've seen it when the crescent moon shone bright on a cold, dark night. The darker the night, the brighter God's smile.

In winter this town is freezing. You step out your door in the morning and the whole place looks like one of those nature specials in which a guy brings a camcorder to the North Pole and then the camera cuts out and you hear on the news that he got eaten by a bear

It was a cold November day and she had dressed herself up in layers of cardigans and covered the whole lot with her old tweed coat, the one she might have used for feeding the chickens in.

It was cold and barren. It was no longer the view that I remembered. The sunshine of her presence was far from me. The charm of her voice no longer murmured in my ear.

It was a large store and i did not like to go in it because its brightness was cold, like sunlight on distant ice.

It was one of those bitter mornings when the whole of nature is shiny, brittle, and hard, like crystal. The trees, decked out in frost, seem to have sweated ice; the earth resounds beneath one's feet; the tiniest sounds carry a long way in the dry air; the blue sky is bright as a mirror, and the sun moves through space in icy brilliance, casting on the frozen world rays which bestow no warmth upon anything.

It never occurred to me that half of the population of Vermont wasn’t experiencing pretty much what I put myself through every night- bone-crackling cold that made my joints ache, cold so relentless I felt it in my dreams: ice floes, lost expeditions, the lights of search planes swinging over whitecaps as I floundered alone Arctic Seas.

It was so difficult to dress appropriately when the seasons changed – the British weather was the nothing if not erratic. Spring was the worst – freezing in Brighton this morning and then practically tropical in Knightsbridge in the afternoon.

I used to be fine in my loneliness but something or someone snapped me out of it and showed me company. What it’s like to feel at home, and so the going on by myself part wasn’t as easy anymore. Seasons happened and things got colder and harder and suddenly I found myself smoking circles in the air by myself in the snow and I was not okay.

I've had enough of these streets that sweat a cold, yellow slime, of hostile people, of crying myself to sleep every night. I've had enough of thinking, enough of remembering.

I was recently living more comfortably surrounded by secrets... Like dozens of luxurious satiny pillows, they were embracing me from all directions into safe lulling warmth, thus isolating me from the sharp dead-cold edges of the truth hiding behind their endearingly smooth textures and tender soothing colours. Secrets could be so irresistibly beautiful...

Love is the small repetitive kisses I drew all over you face While your cold hands Found refuge in mine

I wonder what freezes the flurry of hurt on her cold- flushed cheeks, if his touch is a salve or the shattering.

Long after the other voices had dropped away, Sam kept howling, very soft and slow. When he finally fell silent, the night felt dead. Sitting was intolerable. I stood up, paced, clenched and unclenched my hands into fists. Finally I took the guitar that Sam had played and I screamed and smashed it into pieces on Dad's desk.

Michigan isn't just cold in December; it's artic.

Most people wouldn’t be messed up if only their heart were as cold as they show it to be.

Mr. Albert? Mr. Albert?” Harley said. “Just Albert’s fine,” Albert said tersely. “Me and Janice are thirsty.” “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any water on me.” He managed a tight smile and moved on. But now Janice was crying and Harley was pleading. “We used to live with Mary and she gave us water. But now we have to live with Summer and BeeBee and they said we have to have money.” “Then I guess you’d better earn some money,” Albert said. He tried to soften it, tried not to sound harsh, but he had a lot on his mind and it came out sounding mean. Now Harley started to cry, too. “If you’re thirsty, stop crying,” Albert snapped. “What do you think tears are made of?

Men do not become tyrants in order that they may not suffer cold.

My flesh and blood...when it rises against me, is not my flesh and blood. I discard it.

My heart is like an iceberg, an ice shelf floating freely and only a small portion is visible to the human eye, but on fire. Beautiful and cold, yet warm, and even the strongest structure could break if experience didn’t teach there are depth and strength that hides so cleverly beneath the surface.

Never Forget Who You Are Beacause Its Like Forgetingg Water Is Wet,The Sun Is Bright,Snow Is Cold.Its Rudunent.

Lyra had been born in the cold, and in the stark of winter, she thrived.

Nothing is so cold and so calculating as money in a void where love and hope had been.

One cold shower in morning, is a great and unexpected from you.

No matter how cold your proverbial winter, you can plant seeds of change in your life by changing your thoughts and actions.

NIGHT SNOW I was surprised my quilt and pillow were cold, I see that now the window's bright again. Deep in the night, I know the snow is thick, I sometimes hear the sound as bamboo snaps.

Nu hører du Læser, hvad Handel og Kaar Vi fattig' Nord-lændinger daglig udstaar, Og hvorpaa vi faar os at lave.

On a world where a common table implement is a little device with which you crack the ice that has formed on your drink between drafts, hot beer is a thing you come to appreciate.

One cold November, I resolved to kill the staircase spawn... ("Staircase Man" by Diane Doniol-Valcroze & Arthur K. Flam)

Outside the window, there slides past that unimaginable and deserted vastness where night is coming on, the sun declining in ghastly blood-streaked splendour like a public execution across, it would seem, half a continent, where live only bears and shooting stars and the wolves who lap congealing ice from water that holds within it the entire sky. All white with snow as if under dustsheets, as if laid away eternally as soon as brought back from the shop, never to be used or touched. Horrors! And, as on a cyclorama, this unnatural spectacle rolls past at twenty-odd miles an hour in a tidy frame of lace curtains only a little the worse for soot and drapes of a heavy velvet of dark, dusty blue.

Outside, the sky was clear, stars gleaming in its ebony vastness like celestial fireflies. It was bitterly cold, and Hywel's every breath trailed after him in pale puffs of smoke. The glazed snow crackled underfoot as he started towards the great hall.

Rather, that rigidity had simply been given sporadic spots of wrath, coupled with the sprinkling of secrets, and placed in a cold corner to slowly stew and starve––leaving it no choice but to eventually break through with blooms of fury. And on the night of Cornelius’s arrival, it at long last broke through.

People leave you out in the cold and get mad when you learn how to get warm by yourself.

Rain is just like you, When it come, it gets cold.. When i remember, i feel blue

Rejoice with glitters of ashes tonight Sparkling for moon's spiced silver bite Upon skin of darkness, loving night more Storm begins unlocking cold wind's door

People are like water: Many rush pass you, as some will over-flood. Some will drown you, or force you to go their current ways. Some will be cold or hot-tempered, but try to say with the warm ones. Some will come as a raging wave and cause a ripple, or a calm sea, supporting you, quenching your thirst, and flow by your side to where kisses will always stay wet.

See, it’s like I’ve always told you, you’re a waste of human life and you would be better off as a grain of sand. If you were a grain of sand, you would serve a purpose in this life. The dirt that holds me up from touching something lower than you. Now you know where you stand in this world. Right below me.

She had died, I just never told her. So still, we walk, eat and sleep together, in fear one day she'll come to realize it.