Best 1128 quotes in «winter quotes» category

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

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

When the winter comes, fire becomes a king!

When winter comes, wrap yourself in a blanket of love.

Winter broke the trees and now it's breaking all the people, too.

Winter is icummen in, Lhude sing Goddamm, Raineth drop and staineth slop And how the wind doth ramm! Sing: Goddamm. Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us, An ague hath my ham. Freezeth river, turneth liver Damn you, sing: Goddamm. Goddamm, Goddamm, tis why I am, Goddamm. So 'gainst the winter's balm Sing Goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm Sing Goddamm, sing Goddamm, DAMM.

WINTER Puir laboureris and busy husbandmen, Went wet and weary in the fen; The silly sheep and their little herd-groomis Lurkis under lea of bankis, wodes, and broomis, And other dantit greater bestial, Within their stabillis sesyt into stall, Sic as mulis, horsis, oxen and kye, Fed tuskit boaris, and fat swine in sty, Sustainit were by manis governance On harvest and simmeris purveyance.

WINTER SPOILER - KINDA IDRK Cinder looked away. Though so much had changed between them since that night, it still felt like an ice pick in her heart when she remembered the way he'd looked at her, and his horrified words: You're even more painful to look at than she is.

Winter, spring, and summer, passed away during my labours; but I did not watch the blossoms or the expanding leaves — sights which before always yielded me supreme delight, so deeply was I engrossed in my occupation.

...winter crescent resting in the high pine bough - you fly through the woods like a lone snow bird...

Winter gold: the sparrow's footprints in the snow.

Winter is a season we all wish to start and end soon.

Winter is our time. They shut up their cities for the cold months. They put their horses in stables and sit around great fires in enormous houses of stone. If you want a bearskin, do you attack in summer when it is strong and fast, or cut its throat as it sleeps?

Winter is not a season in the North Middlewest; it is an industry.

Winter is winter.

Winter passed, suns and moons, and in the heat of summer each tree leaned across the stream and enmeshed its young foliage with the crown of its brother. More summers, more winters, more suns and moons, and the two had grown together, their great trunks fused, the stream parting now to flow round them.

WINTER'S GHOST: Autumn moon incautious in the dark river Winter’s ghost walks with a covered face and silver bones wait in all animals to be bone cloth upon her shoulder wait for her happiness in that they are silver

Winter’s head snapped around, away from Scarlet. Scarlet’s pace slowed, dread pulsing through her as she, too, heard the footsteps. Pounding footsteps, like someone was running at full speed toward them. She reached for the knife Jacin had given her. A man barrelled around the corner, heading straight for the princess. Winter tensed half a second before he reached her. Grabbing Winter’s elbow, he yanked back the red hood. Scarlet gasped. Her knees weakened. The man stared at Winter with a mixture of confusion and disappointment and maybe even anger, all locked up in eyes so vividly green that Scarlet could see them glowing from here. She was the one hallucinating now. She took a stumbling, uncertain step forward. Wanting to run toward him, but terrified it was a trick. Her hand tightened around the knife handle as Wolf, ignoring how Winter was trying to pull away, grabbed her arm and smelled the filthy red sleeve of Scarlet’s hoodie, streaked with dirt and blood. He growled, ready to tear the princess apart. “Where did you get this?” So desperate, so determined, so him. The knife slipped out of Scarlet’s hand. Wolf’s attention snapped to her. “Wolf?” she whispered. His eyes brightened, wild and hopeful. Releasing Winter, he strode forward. His tumultuous eyes scooped over her. Devoured her. When he was in arm’s reach, Scarlet almost collapsed into him, but at the last moment she had the presence of mind to step back. She planted a hand on his chest. Wolf froze, hurt flickering across his face. “I’m sorry,” said Scarlet, her voice teetering with exhaustion. “It’s just…I smell so awful, I can hardly stand to be around myself right now, so I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you with your sense of sm-“ Batting her hand away, Wolf dug his fingers into Scarlet’s hair and crushed his mouth against hers. Her protests died with a muffled gasp. This time, she did collapse, her legs unable to hold her a second longer. Wolf fell with her, dropping his knees to break Scarlet’s fall and cradling her body against his. He was here. He was here.

Winter walks up and down the town swinging his censer, but no smoke or sweetness comes from it, only the sour, metallic frankness of salt and snow.

Winter is harsh so spring can be pleasant.

Winter is much like unrequited love; cold and merciless.

Winter is nature's way of saying, "Up yours.

Winter was come indeed bringing with it those pleasures of which the summer dreamer knows nothing—the delight when the fine and glittering day shows in the window, though one knows how cold it is outside; the delight of getting as close as possible to the blazing range which in the shadowy kitchen throws reflections very different from the pale gleams of sunlight in the yard, the range we cannot take with us on our walk, busy with its own activity, growling and grumbling as it sets to work, for in three hours time luncheon must be ready; the delight of filling one's bowl with steaming café-au-lait—for it is only eight o'clock—and swallowing it in boiling gulps while servants at their tasks come in and out with a, 'Good morning: up early, aren't you?' and a kindly, 'It's snug enough in here, but cold outside,' accompanying the words with that smile which is to be seen only on the faces of those who for the moment are thinking of others and not of themselves, whose expressions, entirely freed from egotism, take on a quality of vacillating goodness, a smile which completes that earlier smile of the bright golden sky touching the window-panes, and crowns our every pleasure as we stand there with the lovely heat of the range at our backs, the hot and limpid flavour of the café-au-lait in our mouths; the delight of night-time when, having had to get up to go shiveringly to the icy lavatory in the tower, into which the air creeps through the ill-fitting window, we later return deliciously to our room, feeling a smile of happiness distend our lips, finding it hard not to jump for sheer joy at the thought of the big bed already warm with our warmth, of the still burning fire, the hot-water bottle, the coverlets and blankets which have imparted their heat to the bed into which we are about to slip, walled in, embattled, hiding ourselves to the chin as against enemies thundering at the gates, who will not (and the thought brings gaiety) get the better of us, since they do not even know where we have so snugly gone to earth, laughing at the wind which is roaring outside, climbing up all the chimneys to every floor of the great house, conducting a search on each landing, trying all the locks: the delight of rolling ourselves in the blankets when we feel its icy breath approaching, sliding a little farther down the bed, gripping the hot-water bottle between our feet, working it up too high, and when we push it down again feeling the place where it has been still hot, pulling up the bedclothes to our faces, rolling ourselves into a ball, turning over, thinking—'How good life is!' too gay even to feel melancholy at the thought of the triviality of all this pleasure.

Wistful notes spoke of loneliness, as solitary as the final birdsong of autumn or the trill of summer’s last cicada before the wintry freeze.

Wolf Star shines on wintry high; Gazing northward by and by. Ice and snow on shorelines lie; Wind and spirits haunt the sky.

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

Why do you take off your clothes in the winter and then cover up in the summer? Baring it all, Grandstanding, Not even one leaf, You naked tree

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

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.

Winter was gray and mean upon the city and every night was a package of cold bleak hours, like the hours in a cell that had no door.

Wisconsin was covered several inches deep in snow -- very beautiful, with light ice-floes on the lakes and rivers, and the bare trees and tall grasses like brown feathers against the snow. As the sun set it was reflected in the ice-covered lakes and the light snow -- but all the same I'm glad that most of my [lecture] tour has been in summer and autumn weather. As soon as winter comes there is an extraordinary effect of desolation in these miles upon miles of uninhabited prairies and hills.

With all this snow, with the sun not there, with the cold and dreariness, this place doesn't look like my America, doesn't even look real. It's like we are in a terrible story, like we're in the crazy parts of the Bible, there where God is busy punishing people for their sins and is making them miserable with all the weather. The sky, for example, has stayed white all this time I have been here, which tells you that something is not right. Even the stones know that a sky is supposed to be blue, like our sky back home, which is blue, so blue you can spray Clorox on it and wipe it with a paper towel and it wouldn't even come off.

Within every heart's Winter sleeps the promise of Spring.

Withstanding the cold develops vigor for the relaxing days of spring and summer. Besides, in this matter as in many others, it is evident that nature abhors a quitter.

You are the capital U in Unhelpful.

You can't undo loss. You can't unmake a mistake.