Best 663 quotes in «ice quotes» category

Women to whom one has just been introduced think that it breaks the ice if they scream, 'Goodness, you're tall!' How would they like it if I broke the ice first, by screaming 'Goodness, what thick ankles!' or 'Goodness, what a bust!

Working with Ice Cube was so tight. He's cool, and I really like how he does family stuff. My guy friends couldn't believe I was chillin' with him. Dudes love Ice Cube.

Yesterday i carved your name into the surface of an ice cube then held it against my chest til it melted into my aching pores today i cried so hard the neighbors knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to borrow some sugar.

Yes, my parents are strict about me having a childhood. I go ice skating and sledding, and swimming in the summer.

Yielding, like ice about to melt.

You cannot learn to skate without making yourself ridiculous - the ice of life is slippery.

You cannot speak of ocean to a well-frog, the creature of a narrower sphere. You cannot speak of ice to a summer insect, the creature of a season.

You can pour melted ice cream on regular ice cream. It's like a sauce!

You can say what you want to about a rapper in a movie, but look at what Ice Cube has done. Ice Cube has created more opportunities for other actors to get jobs in this business than some actors have.

You can't always get out on the mountain, so I'll put rubber on the end of my ice tools and climb the tread wall, a rotating rock wall I have in my backyard.

You can't control the opposition, but you can control how you play, your energy level, your intensity on the ice. That's what we're going to do.

You can tell by the applause: There's perfunctory applause, there's light applause, and then there's real applause. When it's right, applause sounds like vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce.

You know there are so many people that have touched your life both on the ice and within your career in the NHL whether it be owners, GMs, coaches, players, trainers, all the way down. And that doesn't even account for all of the people that you encountered outside of the game that you met along this trip, too.

You have ruthlessness in your bones and ice in your heart, Clarissa. Don't tell me any differently.

You'll need to do a better job, Annabelle. No more dates like the first one tonight." "Agreed. And no more making me sit through your Power Matches introductions, either. As you so wisely pointed out, helping Portia Powers isn't in my best interests." "Then why are you still trying to talk me into seeing Melanie again?" "Hunger makes me weird." "You got rid of the last one in fourteen minutes. Well done. I'm rewarding you by letting you sit in on all the introductions from now on." She nearly choked on an ice cube. "What are you talking about?" "Exactly what I said.

You know what's good? Going on the ice and knowing that you don't have to skate when the whistle blows. All my life I've been the one skating.

(...) a man encased in ice, his eyes hard and his voice like a frosty exhale.

Your anger was a climate I inhabited like a desert in a dry frigid weather of high thin air and ivory sun, sand dunes the wind lifted into stinging clouds that blinded and choked me where the only ice was in the blood.

You're jumping over the bench, jumping back onto the ice and you're working as a unit. Defenders can move up the ice and score goals as well as the forwards. It's a real fast, physical game. It's the fastest game on earth so it's pretty enjoyable to watch.

Agnes walked in with a tray of gorgeous raspberry tortes, fruit sorbet, and pistachio ice.

You're gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul

A chill swept through the air, the sort of graveyard kiss promising bad news to follow.

A flower. White and whiskered in a fringe of ice. Silken petals held together in a loose grip

As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of the world.

By March, the worst of the winter would be over. The snow would thaw, the rivers begin to run and the world would wake into itself again. Not that year. Winter hung in there, like an invalid refusing to die. Day after grey day the ice stayed hard; the world remained unfriendly and cold.

But germs are the most common snowflake starters and lie at the heart of 85 percent of all flakes.2 So next time you gaze at a lovely snowstorm, inform your favorite germophobe or hypochondriac that living bacteria sit shivering in most of those untold billions of flakes. Then hand him or her a snow cone or organize a catch-a-snowflake-on-your-tongue party. Once the ice-forming process is started, more molecules join the party, and the crystal grows. It can ultimately become either a snowflake or a rough granule of ice called by the odd name graupel. A snowflake contains ten quintillion water molecules. That’s ten million trillion. Ten snowflakes—which can fit on your thumb tip—have the same number of molecules as there are grains of sand on the earth. Or stars in the visible universe. How many flakes, how many molecules fashioned the snowy landscape I was observing as I drove east? It numbed the brain.

By coming down elbow first, I'd made a large enough crack in the ice to sink through. The water was so cold that it stopped time.

Emotions, whims and lies, fascinations and games. Feelings and their absence. Gifts, which may not be accepted. Lies and truth. What is truth? The negation of lies? Or the statement of a fact? And if the fact is a lie, what then is the truth? Who is full of feelings which torment him, and who is the empty carapace of a cold skull? Who? What is truth, Geralt? What is the essence of truth?’ ‘I don’t know, Yen. Tell me.’ ‘No,’ she said and lowered her eyes. For the first time. He had never seen her do that before. Never. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘I cannot, Geralt. I cannot tell you that. That bird, begotten from the touch of your hand, will tell you. Bird? What is the essence of truth?’ ‘Truth,’ the kestrel said, ‘is a shard of ice.

I am in love, and the river is beginning to ice over. I’d better go drown myself before I freeze to death.

En réponse à cette sorcellerie, les lames runiques de Skynth s’illuminèrent et se couvrirent d’une fine pellicule glacée alors qu’une litanie enflait dans les rangs des défenseurs : Si les Dieux d’Yskaz le veulent… L’on siégera à leur droite Sous les étoiles cristallines et moirées Dans les glaces scintillantes Si les Dieux d’Yskaz le veulent… L’on passera à leur gauche Sur les brisants nuées pâles et mouvantes Dans les Landes Figées Si les Dieux d’Yskaz le veulent… Le peuple d’Yskaz affectionnait les runes de froid au combat et l’on disait volontiers dans les cinq royaumes que le baiser d’une lame en acier d’Yskaz était plus froid que la mort elle-même.

From the eyes of the ice, sunset is a big event, it is a great opportunity to live longer!

Her albino hair illuminated my dreams, shining brighter than moonlight.

Fear melts like ice when we allow love's divine light to shine upon our ignorance.

Fire and Ice Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.

He’d fallen in the trap before of believing she had the cold soul of an ice queen, but moments like these, it seemed more like she’d been encased a long time ago and couldn’t break free.

He could, Andi." Andi's heart turned to ice. It wasn't possible. He was dead, cast away into some deep, dark hell where he'd never be able to claw his way back out.

He who cannot put his thoughts on ice should not enter into the heat of dispute.

I allowed myself a microscopic view into his ice-colored eyes. It was like viewing one of those photographs of the Arctic region – very foreign, exotic, clearly a place you’ve never dreamed of going.

I guess I was lucky I didn't drown, or smother in the thick, black, icy mud that the river left behind in its slow withdrawal back within its banks. I didn't feel lucky. When I regained consciousness, my head and ribs winning the battle with the rest of my body for sharp, almost unbearable pain, my first thought was Chrissy. Chrissy, pulled away from me by the merciless power of the water. Chrissy, lost somewhere, maybe injured, calling for me and I wasn't there for her. Chrissy, beautiful, wonderful Chrissy, quite probably lying in the mud, dead! My scream of anguish, of pain and loss, echoed through the empty Liverpool streets. There was no shame or embarrassment in that shout, that bellow of emotion. I had lost the woman I loved. Nothing I’d ever felt compared to the agony, the gut-wrenching loss of that moment. I cried. I sat there in the middle of a street I didn't recognise, not knowing how far the wave had carried me, and cried.

Ice could sear and burn—sometimes far more intimately than fire—and he had scorched her with a savagery sheathed in only the merest pretense of restraint.

I drag the body out into the snowdrifts, as far away from our shack as I can muster. I put her in a thicket of trees, where the green seems to still have a voice in the branches, and try not to think about the beasts that’ll soon be gathering. There’s no way of burying her; the ground is a solid rock of ice beneath us. I kneel beside her and want desperately to weep. My throat tightens and my head aches. Everything hurts inside. But I have no way of releasing it. I’m locked up and hard as stone. “I’m sorry, Mamma,” I whisper to the shell in front of me. I take her hand. It could belong to a glass doll. There’s no life there anymore. So I gather rocks, one by one, and set them over her, trying my best to protect her from the birds, the beasts, keep her safe as much as I can now. I pile the dark stones gently on her stomach, her arms, and over her face, until she becomes one with the mountain. I stand and study my work, feeling like the rocks are on me instead, then I leave the body for the forest and ice.

I love you," he said. Icicles formed on his skin as she stared at him for several heartbeats. "Do you suppose that changes anything?" "I want it to." He knelt at her feet, but didn't even dare touch her hand. "Don, I want it to meant everything. It should.

I have two eyes, and I go to see the ice.

I was the fire to your ice, the only snake eyes you ever rolled with that dice in your mind.

I must have ice in my veins to do what I just did. I expect the ice to melt...But it doesn't. It just gets colder and colder...And I welcome it.

I must freeze my heart to the one person who insists on setting it ablaze.

In January in Northern Russia, everything vanishes beneath a deep blanket of whiteness. Rivers, fields, trees, roads, and houses disappear, and the landscape becomes a white sea of mounds and hollows. On days when the sky is gray, it is hard to see where earth merges with air. On brilliant days when the sky is a rich blue, the sunlight is blinding, as if millions of diamonds were scattered on the snow, refracting light. In Catherine's time, the log roads of summer were covered with a smooth coating of snow and ice that enabled the sledges to glide smoothly at startling speeds; on some days, her procession covered a hundred miles.

So much ice. She thumbed a drying tear away. How much water can the weight of ice carry?

I stood on the old ferry dock and watched the icy sludge slide by. Patches of white ice slipped through, but mostly it was grey slush, sluggish and heavy looking. The air was sharp and clear, one of the few benefits of the evacuation and reducing temperature, the centuries-old odour of industry and modern life frozen and discarded, leaving a crispness previously only found among the peaks of mountain ranges. On the far bank stood the ruins of Birkenhead, where the riots had been particularly bad and the fires that followed were allowed to rage out of control. It had taken weeks for the conflagration to finally die, leaving behind soot-blackened husks of buildings, grotesque sculptures of melted glass and metal and more dead than anyone ever cared to count.

It was winter, and a night of bitter cold. The snow lay thick upon the ground, and upon the branches of the trees: the frost kept snapping the little twigs on either side of them, as they passed: and when they came to the Mountain-Torrent she was hanging motionless in air, for the Ice-King had kissed her.