No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.
Even in winter it shall be green in my heart.
In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
The days are short, The sun a spark Hung thin between The dark and dark.
If we had not winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
Winter is not a season, it's a celebration.
Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face.
What fire could ever equal the sunshine of a winter's day?
I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and its winter.
In winter the stars seem to have rekindled their fires, the moon achieves a fuller triumph, and the heavens wear a look of a more exalted simplicity.
Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.
The cold was our pride, the snow was our beauty. It fell and fell, lacing day and night together in a milky haze, making everything quieter as it fell, so that winter seemed to partake of religion in a way no other season did, hushed, solemn.
Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.
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.
People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.
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.
Winter is the king of showmen, Turning tree stumps into snowmen And houses into birthday cakes And spreading sugar over lakes. Smooth and clean and frosty white, The world looks good enough to bite. That’s the season to be young, Catching snowflakes on your tongue. Snow is snowy when it’s snowing, I’m sorry it’s slushy when it’s going.
Everything is everything What is meant to be, will be After winter, must come spring Change, it comes eventually
What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.
Grace grows best in winter.
Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.
So with the stretch of the white road before me, Shining snow crystals rainbowed by the sun, Fields that are white, stained with long, cool, blue shadows, Strong with the strength of my horse as we run. Joy in the touch of the wind and the sunlight! Joy! With the vigorous earth I am one.
One may prefer spring and summer to autumn and winter, but preference is hardly to the point. The earth turns, and we live in the grain of nature, turning with it.
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