Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.
Let us love winter, for it is the spring of genius.
Never cut a tree down in the wintertime. Never make a negative decision in the low time. Never make your most important decisions when you are in your worst moods. Wait. Be patient. The storm will pass. The spring will come.
Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old,
their beards of icicles and snow.
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.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.
What a severe yet master artist old Winter is... No longer the canvas and the pigments, but the marble and the chisel.
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
I was just thinking, if it is really religion with these nudist colonies, they sure must turn atheists in the wintertime.
I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.
"Hear! hear!" screamed the jay from a neighboring tree, where I had heard a tittering for some time, "winter has a concentrated and nutty kernel, if you know where to look for it."
Spring, summer, and fall fill us with hope; winter alone reminds us of the human condition.
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.
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.
Never cut a tree down in the wintertime. Never make a negative decision in the low time.
In the wintertime, in the snow country, citrus fruit was so rare, and if you got one, it was better than ambrosia.
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.
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.
The tendinous part of the mind, so to speak, is more developed in winter; the fleshy, in summer. I should say winter had given the bone and sinew to literature, summer the tissues and the blood.
Every winter, When the great sun has turned his face away, The earth goes down into a vale of grief, And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables, Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay- Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.
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.
[last words] What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night.
Helsinki isn't all that bad. It's a very nice city, and it's cold really only in wintertime.
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