Best 85 quotes in «frost quotes» category

I love snow, snow, and all the forms of radiant frost.

In the days of the frost seek an minor sun.

In lazy apathy let stoics boast, their virtue fixed, 'tis fixed as in a frost.

I suppose I'm not quite the oldest detective on the block - David Jason is. When's he going to retire and give rest of us a chance?! No, his Touch Of Frost is terrific and a wonderful antidote to the po-faced detective shows around at the moment. Anyway, I can't retire. I have a wife and five chickens to feed.

Interesting is when one can produce a picture that is pretty, but with undercurrents. The metaphor that comes to mind is in the poems of Robert Frost.

I wander forth this chill December dawn: John Frost and all his elves are out, I see, As busy as the elfin world can be, Clothing a world asleep with fleecy lawn.

It [Cambridge] wasn't a holy grail in the sense that I'd never been to Cambridge. But then, when I did go, the contrast between Leeds, which was very black and sooty in those days, and Cambridge, which seemed like something out of a fairystory, in the grip of a hard frost, was just wonderful.

It was (Nick Frost's) first-ever bedroom scene and my first-ever bedroom scene...not that we were actually doing much, but we did have to lie sort of semi-nude under the sheets. And he was incredibly sort of vibrant and outgoing, but then he suddenly got very, like, 'I'm engaged and I'm getting married!' And I was, 'Okay, that's good. I just won't be touching you, then!'

January is here, with eyes that keenly glow, A frost-mailed warrior striding a shadowy steed of snow.

Maybe if I completely shaved my head and get the frost out of my moustache, maybe I could get one of those serious acting jobs.

My reign is not yet over... you live, and my power is complete. Follow me; I seek the everlasting ices of the north, where you will feel the misery of cold and frost to which I am impassive. You will find near this place, if you follow not too tardily, a dead hare; eat and be refreshed. Come on, my enemy; we have yet to wrestle for our lives; but many hard and miserable hours must you endure until that period shall arrive.

I think one percent of the population attended college when Wallace Stevens and Robert Frost and Gertrude Stein were at Harvard. Now I think forty percent of Americans have some college education. That's an astronomical change.

I wonder about all the roads not taken and am moved to quote Frost...but won't. It is sad to be able only to mouth other poets. I want someone to mouth me.

My galligaskins, that have long withstood The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts, By time subdued (what will not time subdue!), A horrid chasm disclosed.

Now the wintertime is coming The windows are filled with frost I went to tell everybody But I could not get across Well, I wanna be your lover, baby I don't wanna be your boss Don't say I never warned you When your train gets lost.

Of all the poetry written in our generation, Frost's is most likely to stand the test of time

Remember the goodness of God in the frost of adversity.

Relieved because what I dreaded most in the whole world was going to happen and I wouldn’t have to live with it anymore—the fear. There is the relief of finally not being alone and the relief of being alone when no one can take anything away from you. Here she was, my beautiful fear. Shiny as crystal lace frost.

The frost makes a flower, the dew makes a star.

Remember that frost comes latest to those that bloom the highest.

Terror itself, when once grown transcendental, becomes a kind of courage; as frost sufficiently intense, according to the poet Milton, will burn.

The frost which kills the harvest of a year saves the harvest of a century, by destroying the weevil or the locust.

On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence.

The first and last frosts are the worst.

The people always know that some of the grain will be good, some of the crop will be saved, some will return and bear the strength of the kernel, that from the bloodiest year some survive to outfox the frost.

There is in youth a purity of character which, when once touched and defiled, can never be restored; a fringe more delicate than frost-work, and which, when torn and broken, can never be re-embroidered.

The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.

There was something frantic in their blooming, as if they knew that frost was near and then the bitter cold. They'd lived through all the heat and noise and stench of summertime, and now each widely opened flower was like a triumphant cry, "We will, we will make seed before we die.

When everything that ticked has stopped, and space stares, all around, or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground.

Two Seasons, it is said, exist- The Summer of the Just, And this of Ours, diversified With Prospect, and with Frost- May not our Second with its First So infinite compare That We but recollect the one The other to prefer?

When friendships are real, they are not glass threads or frost-work , but the solidest thing we know.

Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?

You give Frost a message from me. You tell him it's open season on all suckheads.

Victory comes late-- And is held low to freezing lips-- Too rapt with frost To take it

Were I laid on Greenland's Coast, And in my Arms embrac'd my Lass; Warm amidst eternal Frost, Too soon the Half Year's Night would pass.

When, in 1966, I progressed to The Frost Report, I was paid ten guineas a minute. I was guaranteed three minutes a week, so this was good money.

With five to ten hundred pure-minded young women threading the streets of the village every evening unattended, vice must slink away, like frost before the rising sun.

66/ 'Two roads diverge in a yellow wood,' I think. It didn't ultimately matter which one you took; that was the real point of Frost's poem. The roads were pretty much the same. That stuff about the one less traveled making all the difference was bullshit.

But frost, like the crystallized dreams of autumn, began to coat the clearing with its sugar glaze.

An early frost was in the air tonight. Wind whipped outside the cabin’s basement windows, the last tendrils of late summer disappearing as fall took root. The dismal turn of the weather was a match for Lou’s mood.

Dream of the Tundra Swan Dusk fell and the cold came creeping, cam prickling into our hearts. As we tucked beaks into feathers and settled for sleep, our wings knew. That night, we dreamed the journey: ice-blue sky and the yodel of flight, the sun's pale wafer, the crisp drink of clouds. We dreamed ourselves so far aloft that the earth curved beneath us and nothing sang but a whistling vee of light. When we woke, we were covered with snow. We rose in a billow of white.

De som älskade mest, de som var av kärlek besatta, det var dem som frosten tog.

For winter was coming. The days were shorter, and frost crawled up the window panes at night. Soon the snow would come. Then the log house would be almost buried in snowdrifts, and the lake and the stream would freeze.

Frost kills the flowers that bloom out of season...

I am filled time and again with a heart-aching wonder when I think of the fire and frost of memories of the everlastingness of love the solace of family and the power of prayer.

Despite the heart numbing frost, my soul is blooming like spring.

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.

Frost’s face darkened. “What gives you the right to speak for Miss Hathaway and her family?” Cam saw no reason to be discreet. “I’m going to marry her.” Frost nearly dropped the iron bar. “Don’t be absurd. Amelia would never marry you.” “Why not?” “Good God,” Frost exclaimed incredulously, “how can you ask that? You’re not a gentleman of her class, and … hell and damnation, you’re not even a real Gypsy. You’re a mongrel.” “All the same, I’m going to marry her.” “I’ll see you in hell first!” Frost cried, taking a step toward him. “Either drop that bar,” Cam said quietly, “or I’ll dislocate your arm.” He sincerely hoped Frost would take a swing at him. To his disappointment, Frost set the bar on the ground.

It was a black and white day of frost, which crawled along the dark trees and outlined twig and branch. The air was misty, and distant objects assumed a mysterious importance. Slight sounds, too, suggested infinite activities to the mind. ("A Tribute Of Souls")