Best 1128 quotes in «winter quotes» category

The warmth of my love will transform winter into spring and adorn you with floral blooms of my heart.

The way ran zigzag through a forest of pine which the bitter wind, still that morning, had turned to ice; every bough was adorned with lines of stalactite which shivered and glittered in the morning sun; every needle had a brilliant, vitreous case and when she flicked her whip at a wayside shrub she brought down a tinkling shower of ice-leaves, each the veined impression of its crisp, green counterpart.

The winter smiling with foggy clouds,and the atmosphere is so damp and cold,dales are covered with rolling mist,white smokey air obscured my crystalline thoughts,yet stop not I writing,decked by giving another flavor to words.

The wind swept the snow aside, ever faster and thicker, as if it were trying to catch up with something, and Yurii Andreievich stared ahead of him out of the window, as if he were not looking at the snow but were still reading Tonia’s letter and as if what flickered past him were not small dry snow crystals but the spaces between the small black letters, white, white, endless, endless.

They gathered after mass, sang hymns and read. Everyone had grown even more serene; beneath the sisters' kerchiefs it was as if there were no faces. When they met Daryushka — it was as if they bowed down lower. She was walking in the Spirit. Daryushka was entirely serene. She was thinking of nothing, had turned within herself, peering inside; and inside her all was smiling ever so gently. After the storm clear days came, frosty, crackling, clear days. Snow and sky, snow and sky, and the sky was even brighter, whiter, from the snow — and the snow sparkled with blue fires from the sky. Daryushka went down to the river with buckets, to the ice-hole. She went down to the landing alone... Snow, and sky, and brilliance... ("He Has Descended")

They had laughed. They had leaned on each other and laughed until the tears had come, while everything else--the cold, and where he'd go in it--was outside, for a while anyway.

They're the first crew I've ever had and most of them even call me Captain. I'm going to miss them.

Things are not always how they seem.

This is Winter," said Scarlet. "Princess Winter." Thorne guffawed and pushed a hand into his hair. "Are we running a boardinghouse for misplaced royalty around here, or what?

This twinned twinkle was delightful but not completely satisfying; or rather it only sharpened my appetite for other tidbits of light and shade, and I walked on in a state of raw awareness that seemed to transform the whole of my being into one big eyeball rolling in the world's socket. Through peacocked lashes I saw the dazzling diamond reflection of the low sun on the round back of a parked automobile. To all kinds of things a vivid pictorial sense had been restored by the sponge of the thaw. Water in overlapping festoons flowed down one sloping street and turned gracefully into another. With ever so slight a note of meretricious appeal, narrow passages between buildings revealed treasures of brick and purple. I remarked for the first time the humble fluting - last echoes of grooves on the shafts of columns - ornamenting a garbage can, and I also saw the rippling upon its lid - circles diverging from a fantastically ancient center. Erect, dark-headed shapes of dead snow (left by the blades of a bulldozer last Friday) were lined up like rudimentary penguins along the curbs, above the brilliant vibration of live gutters. I walked up, and I walked down, and I walked straight into a delicately dying sky, and finally the sequence of observed and observant things brought me, at my usual eating time, to a street so distant from my usual eating place that I decided to try a restaurant which stood on the fringe of the town. Night had fallen without sound or ceremony when I came out again. ("The Vane Sisters")

This winter, there will be no voices, no glimpses, no arms. only the fabric of poetry, to keep me warm.

Thorne cleared his throat. "We need to get back to the house. We've already risked drawing enough attention, and she..." He looked at Winter. There was an edge to his expression, like he didn't trust anyone who was more attractive than he was. "...will definitely draw attention.

Thi Vinteren fører stedsvarende Mørk, Indfalder i Landet som idelig Ørk, U-endelig Nætter tilhaabe; Imeden har Bnden ey synderlig Kaar, I Mørk hand sig lægger, i Mørk han opstaar, En Nat til den anden mon raabe.

Those who always have summer in their minds never see winter!

Thus unto winter’s chill embrace I turn Who once the summer’s sun did blithely bide ‘Neath solemn visage cold and fair and stern In her cool breast my hot heart to confide. Denied the warmth and wit of summer’s sun Or springtime’s strength, and bright, melodious song I dreamed not to complete what I’d begun Nor dared to haste the laggard hours along. But now with spring and summer sun at rest Laid bare before bright winter’s pale charms I would for love of her lay down my quest And take my ease in Winter-Lady’s arms. Before her beauty fair ‘neath snow-swept sky All other seasons blanch and fade, and die. - The Lost Knight's Lament, "Winter's Lady" (Forthcoming)

…to celebrate by making love the first snow of winter.

Un rideau de flocons blancs ininterrompu miroitait sans cesse en descendant vers la terre; il effaçait les formes, poudrait les choses d'une mousse de glace; et l'on n'entendait plus, dans le grand silence de la ville calme et ensevelie sous l'hiver, que ce froissement vague, innommable et flottant de la neige qui tombe, plutôt sensation que bruit , entremêlement d'atomes légers qui semblaient emplir l'espace, couvrir le monde.

To keep a warm heart in winter is the real victory.

Trees lose their leaves in blizzards like these.

Used to be a hobo right smart. back in the thirties. They wasnt no work I dont care what you could do. I was ridin through the mountains one night, state of Colorado. Dead of winter it was and bitter cold. I had just a smidgin of tobacco, bout enough for one or two smokes. I was in one of them old slatsided cars and I'd been up and down in it like a dog tryin to find some place where the wind wouldnt blow. Directly I scrunched up in a corner and rolled me a smoke and lit it and thowed the match down. Well, they was some sort of stuff in the floor about like tinder and it caught fire. I jumped up and stomped on it and it aint done nothin but burn faster. Wasnt two minutes the whole car was afire. I run to the door and got it open and we was goin up this grade through the mountains in the snow with the moon on it and it was just blue looking and dead quiet out there and them big old black pine trees going by. I jumped for it and lit in a snowbank and what I'm goin to tell you you'll think peculiar but it's the god's truth. That was in nineteen and thirty one and if I live to be a hunnerd year old I dont think I'll ever see anything as pretty as that train on fire goin up that mountain and around the bend and them flames lightin up the snow and the trees and the night.

We all grow tired eventually; it happens to everyone. Even the sun, at the close of the year, is no longer a morning person.

We were letting go of October, relinquishing color, readying ourselves for streets lacquered with ice, the town closed like a walnut, locked inside the cold.

We experience a discomfort that may be foreign to others, but that pain opens up a world of beauty. Wouldn't you think?

We cry from pain, from loss, and from loneliness, but mostly we cry because we still have hope, and because we can still find joy even on the darkest and coldest of winter nights.

What are you? Spring or summer? Winter or autumn? None or all? Whatever you are, always be mild! Are you winter, then be a mild winter! Summer? Be a mild summer!

What Do the Trees Know? What do the trees know? To bend when all the wild winds blow. Roots are deep and time is slow. All we grasp we must let go. What do the trees know? Buds can weather ice and snow. Dark gives way to sunlight's glow. Strength and stillness help us grow.

When the north wind blew across the tar ponds, voices were carried away.

What he longs for instead, as he sits at the food-strewn table, is winter, winter itself. He wants the essentiality of winter, not this half-season grey selfsameness. He wants real winter where woods are sheathed in snow, trees emphatic with its white, their bareness shining and enhanced because of it, the ground underfoot snow-covered as if with frozen feathers or shredded cloud but streaked with gold through the trees from low winter sun, and at the end of the barely discernible track, along the dip in the snow that indicates a muffled path between the trees, the view and the woods opening to a light that’s itself untrodden, never been blemished, wide like an expanse of snow-sea, above it more snow promised, waiting its time in the blank of the sky.

When there is nothing left to learn from the winter, move on to the spring!

What if winters were only there to make flowers bloom and not to see them dying in summer heat?

When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-whit! To-who!—a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doe blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-whit! To-who!—a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When the winter comes, fire becomes a king!

When the winter speaks loud, everyone and everything becomes silent!

Wind blew snow crystals back and forth between the graves. The ancient pines creaked overhead.

Whoever is present in your spring would more than likely have respected your winter.

Winkler's breath plumed up onto his glasses. The entire valley was enveloped in a huge, illuminated stillness. Above him the clouds had pulled away and the sky burned with stars. The meadow smoldered with light, and the spruce had become illuminated kingdoms, snow sifting from branch to branch. He thought: This has been here every winter all my life.

Winter arrived with December, and the world continued to suffer the loss of the Internet and most forms of communication. Supply chains were disrupted. The only mass form of personal communication was the letter, and postal workers were having their worst year ever, as they were actually meeded. Food was becoming scarcer and more expensive, as was fuel for vehicles and heating. Major cities experienced riots on a regular basis, spurred on by religious fervor and want. Civilization was on the brink of collapse.

Winter brings cold dry harsh weather and trees are without leaves.

Winter collapsed on us that year. It knelt, exhausted, and stayed.

Winter is copper, autumn is bronze, spring is silver, and summer is gold.

Winter makes us know the warmth of a fire.

WINTER SPOILER KINDA Cinder stared at his whitened knuckles and struggled for something meaningful to say. Her grand plan of revolution and change had just begun and already she felt like a failure. This seemed worse than failing the people of Luna, though. She'd failed the people she cared about most in the universe. Finally, she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Thorne." "Yeah," he said. "Me too.

Winter unwraps a parcel of stones For old and sick and sad, and homeless walkers

Winter was creeping in and, at barely three o'clock in the afternoon, the day was losing substance and dissolving into a dusty twilight.

Wisconsin doesn't look kindly on the weeks that slip in between the death of cold and the birth of warmth; Persephone may have left her husband, but she isn't home yet, and this is one state that'll be damned before it lets anyone forget it.

Wintering over geraniums with their pale green gingko leaves─ they have not died, and neither has she, but the blooms are gone, and every part of her longs for red.

Winter is already a lost shape, forgotten in the ground. Instead, here is Spring with all the grace of a woman smoothing out her apron.

Winter is the time for stories, staying fast by the glow of fire. And outside, in the darkness, the stars are brighter than you can possibly imagine.

Winter, I wrote, was akin to living inside a refrigerator.

Winter shook her head, apology swimming in her amber eyes. Scarlet would have wanted to hug her if she hadn’t simultaneously wanted to strangle her.