It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.
Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.
While I relish our warm months, winter forms our character and brings out our best.
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.
I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.
Antisthenes says that in a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time then thaw and become audible, so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer.
There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you.... In spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself.
One of my current pet theories is that the winter is a kind of evangelist, more subtle than Billy Graham, of course, but of the same stuff.
Winter is the time of promise because there is so little to do - or because you can now and then permit yourself the luxury of thinking so.
Only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself.
I was just thinking, if it is really religion with these nudist colonies, they sure must turn atheists in the wintertime.
What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.
In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
The problem with winter sports is that - follow me closely here - they generally take place in winter.
Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.
People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.
Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face.
Now is the winter of our discontent.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.
Thank goodness for the first snow, it was a reminder--no matter how old you became and how much you'd seen, things could still be new if you were willing to believe they still mattered.
The hard soil and four months of snow make the inhabitants of the northern temperate zone wiser and abler than his fellow who enjoys the fixed smile of the tropics.
The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches.
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