Best 1128 quotes in «winter quotes» category

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.

Franklin knew that the truth lay with the winter night: the world was silent and black-and-white.

From above you could see the chaos of entangled plots on the other side of the road, and a couple of tough tethered goats, and the glint of a frozen pond somewhere in the trees. Above them the sun was shining vaguely through the milky November sky, old but strong. In April – between the thaw and the jungly green explosion of summer – or in raw mid-October, I bet the same view would have been barren and depressing. But when we stood there all the bits of old tractors and discarded refrigerators, the shoals of empty vodka bottles and dead animals that tend to litter the Russian countryside were invisible, smothered by the annual oblivion of the snow. The snow let you forget the scars and blemishes, like temporary amnesia for a bad conscience.

Gather in the summer, gather in the winter; and you will have everything you want in the spring.

Grief is always sudden as winter, no matter how long the autumn.

Got nothing to say now, huh? Figures." She snorted. Hearing voices was one thing, but talking back to them probably hiked her up to a whole new level of psychosis. Awesome.

He brewed his tea in a blue china pot, poured it into a chipped white cup with forget-me-nots on the handle, and dropped in a dollop of honey and cream. He sat by the window, cup in hand, watching the first snow fall. "I am," he sighed deeply, "contented as a clam. I am a most happy man.

He came back to the car, long legs lifting high in the snow, and there was snow in his hair and on his eyelashes and I remembered that I love him. It felt like something breaking with a little pain and spilling warm.

He'd shoved his toque and mitts into the sleeve of his parka when he'd come in the night before, and now, thrusting his right arm into the armhole, he hit the blockage. At a practiced shove the pompom of the toque crowned the cuff followed by his mitts, like a tiny birth.

He hated winter. The same gray sky lay on the ground, day after day, gray as industrial smoke, and in the sky the ground floated like a street that's been salted, and his closets were cold, holes wore through his pockets, and he was lonely, indoors and out, with a loneliness like the loneliness of overshoes or someone else's cough.

He lived with his mother, father and sister; had a room of his own, with the fourth-floor windows staring on seas of rooftops and the glitter of winter nights when home lights brownly wave beneath the heater whiter blaze of stars--those stars that in the North, in the clear nights, all hang frozen tears by the billions, with January Milky Ways like silver taffy, veils of frost in the stillness, huge blinked, throbbing to the slow beat of time and universal blood.

Hello winter! My heart is warm and ready to enjoy your cool loving touch of beauty and splendor.

He paused by the window, looking up into a lavender sky, fingers pressed against the icy glass. No stars tonight; the snowflakes came down out of the dark, rushing towards him, endless, uncountable. Silent, too, but not like the stars. Falling snow whispered secrets to itself. “And you are a fanciful idiot,” he said outloud.

Here, I felt, winter brought no desolation; it was tamed, like a polar bear led on a leash by a beautiful lady.

Fuori, la neve che ricopriva il selciato era così liscia e compatta da sembrare un velo di sfoglia spianata da un mattarello. Fiocchi impalpabili cadevano dal cielo scuro, assorbivano la luce dei lampioni accessi e mulinavano nell'aria come granelli di polvere di un vecchio tappeto percosso da un battipanni.

Harsh winters precede pleasant springs.

He also said to tell you that Wolf misses you very much.

He could have set fire to it, the garden was dry enough, and burned it clean—privet, vines, and weeds; but he waited in his rooms through the winter instead, weeping and dreaming.

He ever offer to walk you home?" "I've never asked," Cath said quickly. "I've never asked you either." "That's true," Levi said. More quiet. More cold. The air stung Cath's throat when she finally spoke again. "So maybe you shouldn't." "Don't be ridiculous," Levi said. "That wasn't my point.

He hissed and rocked his hips into her. “You like to bite?” “I’m a cat, aren’t I?

He raised his hand to brush a stray hair from her face. Instead of dropping his hand, he slid it behind her neck and drew her closer. His earthy pine scent enveloped her. When his lips touched hers, she lost any hope of control.

Her fragility makes her uncomfortable, but it has a familiarity, too, like the biting cold of winter that you only half forget during other seasons.

Her gaze traveled across the western sky that was dotted with clouds and was held by the wintry looking sun, so pure, so lovely, and so impossible to touch. Sheila felt that that was how her love was - Out of reach, unquestionably warm, and as certain as the celestial ball.

Gripped with bitter cold, ice-locked, Petersburg burned in delirium. One knew: out there, invisible behind the curtain of fog, the red and yellow columns, spires, and hoary gates and fences crept on tiptoe, creaking and shuffling. A fevered, impossible, icy sun hung in the fog - to the left, to the right, above, below - a dove over a house on fire. From the delirium-born, misty world, dragon men dived up into the earthly world, belched fog - heard in the misty world as words, but here becoming nothing - round white puffs of smoke. The dragon men dived up and disappeared again into the fog. And trolleys rushed screeching out of the earthly world into the unknown. ("The Dragon")

He’s not,” I tell myself. The lie freezes in the winter air, falls to the ground like snow. I kick at it with the toe of my boot.

He stepped into her line of sight and brushed the robe aside to press a tender kiss on her scarred breast. “They are part of you. I think you are beautiful with them.” “I’m not perfect like other shifters.” “I don’t want perfect because it doesn’t exist in any species.

He shoved his hips against her, reminding her of what they had just done, and said, “I had never bedded a woman before you. I made that plain. Did you think I let you seduce me lightly? No, I did not. You made a deal with me the moment you gave me entry into your body.” “I made no such deal!” Her eyes were angry—and frightened—but he would not let her make him back down. “Precious Isabel,” he whispered. “You made a deal with your heart, your soul, and your body, and you sealed it with the wash of your climax on my c*ck.” She blinked, looking dazed. He’d never used such words before, especially not with her, but their bluntness was necessary.

Hot cocoa and cold toes remind me of Christmas.

Hot coffee and cold winter mornings are two of the best soul mates who ever did find each other.

How could it be winter without snow?I appreciated every season, but winter was my favorite.I loved when it was time to pull out my thick sweaters.I loved the smell of a wood fire.I loved skiing and snow boarding and sledding, when i could find the time-although time was in a short supply when school was in session.I even enjoyed the cold, wintry weather, it was great for snuggling.

Honest Winter, snow-clad, and with the frosted beard, I can welcome not uncordially; But that long deferment of the calendar's promise, that weeping gloom of March and April, that bitter blast outraging the honour of May how often has it robbed me of heart and hope?

How mighty you are as death comes upon you and your color fades. Yet from life and lush to bold array, screaming into the night.

How I wish to fly with the geese away from dreary November days, the "freeze-up," and cruel winter. Away from loneliness, isolation, and anxiety bred by blizzards. Most every local person I've talked to grudgingly admits to an autumn apprehension. It is part and parcel of an Adirondacker's psychological makeup. The geese contaminate us with this strange depression on their southbound flight and cure us with their northbound. In between, we try to tolerate winter, each in his or her own way.

He rose and walked to the windows. The moon reflected the pristine whiteness blowing into shadowy silvery mounds beneath the stars. It spread out before him, all pure and flowing and sterling. There'd always been a gentle peace and welcome solitude on a wintry night in this house. A place of memories and innocent times; a place for new plans.

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

I am happy to experience beauty of each season; spring time, summer, autumn and winter.

I am not warm. That is why my sister chose the name Winter for me.

I can be counted among the thirty million who voluntarily live in a country with annual plagues. A black death called winter that descends upon us all.

I am in no mood to fulminate on paper--I wish the two of us were in a room together talking of what matters most, the air thick with affinity. In January a man crawls into a cave of hopelessness; he hallucinates sympathies catching fire. Letters are glaciers, null frigates, trapping us where we are in the moment, unable to carry us on toward truth.

Ice lies on water as far as the eye can see: scattered rhinestones, spiral arms of ice, ice walls and icebergs, and bits of ice that have splintered off larger pieces whose translucent edges are shaped like miniature whales.

I could feel the bite of the autumn air, warning us all of the harsh winter that was on its way.

I am fine with coffee in the coldest night; I don't need wine to make the dark more romantic.

Ich schaue zu meinem Fenster hinaus, vor dem dicke Schneeflocken wirbeln wie aus dem Bilderbuch. Ich stelle mir vor, eine der ¬Flocken mit der Zunge aufzufangen, wie ich es als Kind getan hatte – auf dass sie darauf ¬zerschmelze. Bald ist alles nur noch weiss eingepackt und verhüllt. Der Schnee dämpft den Lärm, macht die Welt wohliger und überdeckt mit seiner Weissheit alles Bangen. Die Formen werden weicher und das Land bekommt etwas Verwunschenes. Die Umgebung verwandelt sich in eine Traumlandschaft voller skurriler Formen, die Freundlichkeit unter Wildfremden erzeugt. Hier ein Lächeln, da ein gutes Wort und die Welt wie verzaubert.

I'd love to wake up to complete silence, white sheets, and the smell of crisp air and roses.

I despise the wintertime. I never did see what was the use in there even bein one.

I did not dread the dark winter as people do when they have lost their youth and live alone in some great city.

I don't hate you. I am merely annoyed at your existence." -Levana, Winter

I do an awful lot of thinking and dreaming about things in the past and the future - the timelessness of the rocks and the hills - all the people who have existed there. I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show.

I fall asleep Call it deep while all is well be- Cause my life seems like a freestyle mean- While asleep on the couch I dream it's a written piece and now The symphony's sounding Shouting out to these feet whose leaps feel foul but quite loud But how I'm allowed to live my dreams My Chimeran team brings the Siberian breed Riding reality free 'til these tires they freeze In mires in dire need of wires, fire and heat but I love a dark, hard cold heart in the wintery breeze

I eventually came across what looked like tiny footprints in the snow