Snow Quotes - Page 4

Strains of music spring up, crystallizing in the night air like rain turning suddenly to snow, drifting to earth.

Snowflakes are one of nature's most fragile things, but just look what they can do when they stick together.

A few feathery flakes are scattered widely through the air, and hover downward with uncertain flight, now almost alighting on the earth, now whirled again aloft into remote regions of the atmosphere.

The exact science of one molecule transformed into another -- that Mabel could not explain, but then again she couldn't explain how a fetus formed in the womb, cells becoming beating heart and hoping soul. She could not fathom the hexagonal miracle of snowflakes formed from clouds, crystallized fern and feather that tumble down to light on a coat sleeve, white stars melting even as they strike. How did such force and beauty come to be in something so small and fleeting and unknowable?

We'll have all night for slow and sweet," she said softly. "But right now, I really want that hard and fast you mentioned earlier.

In January in Northern Russia, everything vanishes beneath a deep blanket of whiteness. Rivers, fields, trees, roads, and houses disappear, and the landscape becomes a white sea of mounds and hollows. On days when the sky is gray, it is hard to see where earth merges with air. On brilliant days when the sky is a rich blue, the sunlight is blinding, as if millions of diamonds were scattered on the snow, refracting light. In Catherine's time, the log roads of summer were covered with a smooth coating of snow and ice that enabled the sledges to glide smoothly at startling speeds; on some days, her procession covered a hundred miles.

Sometimes there is no choice but to walk into your own house. Far away, you think, and you do not want to see. You come home and you say do not tell me. You say, I have hunted the elk all over the snowfields of the Selway, and I do not want to know what happened here. And then there is a morning you walk in and take a look in your own house, like any traveler.

Inner peace is a quiet evening moonlight walk in the soft falling snow of our minds

The day after two feet of snow paralyzed the eastern part of the United States, the sun shone brightly from clear blue skies and it was as if nothing had ever happened – except for the deep snow that still covered the ground.Peggy Toney Horton wrote:“This beautiful sunny afternoon reminds me of a child who misbehaved and then looked at his mother with wide eyes and declared, ‘I didn't do it!

Wintry it ain't- no complaints! Snowier: Storefronts are showier, light displays glowier. Shoppers are prowling, blizzard howling! Drifts a-heaping, lords a-leaping, Yule logs burning, gifts returning. Winds are keen for 2015!

It was snowing. It was always snowing at Christmas. December, in my memory, is white as Lapland, though there were no reindeers. But there were cats.

The problem with the snow is that it sticks to everything it touches. You can’t get rid of it. Even when it melts away, the chill still clings to your bones.

He swallowed hard. "How do you feel?""I feel like I want to close these drapes, turn down the lights and crawl into that bed with you and spend the night making love with you. All night." She blushed furiously. ..."All night, huh?" he asked.She nodded.He gave her a sexy grin and repeated her earlier words back to her. "Deal.

At the end of the night awaits the white morning: showered in sunlight.

…to celebrate by making love the first snow of winter.

A person looked at me and said "I can't believe you eat ice cream when it's cold out" "I replied oh that's nothing I drink water also when it rains

Lords of fire and earth and water,Lords of moon and wind and sky,Come now to the Old Man's daughter,Come from fathers long gone by.Bring blue from a distance eye.Lords of water, earth, and fire,Lords of wind and snow and rain,Give to my heart's desire.Life as all life comes with pain,But blue will come to us again.

It’s January and I’m kicking snow off the ground. I just threw out the flower you made me promise to water, handle with care, because I was too careless, you said. Careless with things and people, around me and behindand I remember being still for just a second or two, thinking that it’s so much easier to leave and start anew, than take care of what’s already here.

The dark, twisting clouds that had settled over Vendona’s streets seemed to open up and glide past the winking moon. The wind moaned slowly as it died while the trees began dancing with a melody only known to nature. The city became alive, and time raced forward as the sky warmed slightly. It was no longer snowing.

It is growing cold. Winter is putting footsteps in the meadow. What whiteness boasts that sun that comes into this wood! One would say milk-colored maidens are dancing on the petals of orchids. How coldly burns our sun! One would say its rays of light are shards of snow, one imagines the sun lives upon a snow crested peak on this day. One would say she is a woman who wears a gown of winter frost that blinds the eyes. Helplessness has weakened me. Wandering has wearied my legs.

She sucked in a breath. "You're..."tWhen she didn't finish the sentence, he turned his head and watched her gaze drop to his mouth, which was only a few inches from hers.t"Handy," she finished softly.t"And you're..."tShe smiled. "Stubborn? Annoying?"t"Set to go," he said.

What would it be like, a world without snow? I cannot imagine such a place. It would be like a world devoid of numbers. Every snowflake, unique as every number, tells us something about complexity. Perhaps that is why we will never tire of its wonder.

NEW HAIKUOne breathy vowelmists the glass warming windowpanes crystalled with snowRobin Glasser

The first snow is like the first love. Do you remember your first snow?

The tall blue spruce trees surrounding the church stood like ancient prophets in white gowns and a peregrine falcon that had taken up residence in the belfry perched on a ledge keeping an eye out for wandering mice.

Only mountains can feel the frozen warmth of the sun through snow's gentle caress on their peaks

And I sat there at the patio,while the whole of universe,was getting engulfed,in the whitest whiteness of snow.Down, near my rough paw,is soft snow,mannering a fidgeting embryo.I monitored the snow that plunged,on the soil of my backyard,and realized it melting fast.Was that the temperature or,my eyes on it overcast?While I think of this melted exalt,I am obliged to ask,What ought happens to the thoughts?Where do they get tossed?When they are forgot?Scorched?Scoffed?Deformed? Unadorned?

Since it has quietly began to snow,new distances have awakened within me.

Is there anything whiter than winter snow?

In the darkness and the snow, the street is emptyand it is just the night, the ice and me.

When I got home, my roof was gone. Overnight the weight of the snow became too much to carry. What tipped the scale? Think about it: there must have been a final snowflake that did it, a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a milligram that made all the difference.

Mandy was thinking back to when she was five years old, when she, her parents and Jud went outside before Christmas and had a snowball fight with the gray snow of Sydney Mines. “This is a wicked blast,” Jud would say, and Mandy would snap photos with a 35mm disposable film camera, photos she wished very much she could step into sometimes.

A small and sinister snow seems to be coming down relentlessly at present. The radio says it is eventually going to be sleet and rain, but I don't think so; I think it is just going to go on and on, coming down, until the whole world...etc. It has that look.

The snow was too light to stay, the ground too warm to keep it. And the strange spring snow fell only in that golden moment of dawn, the turning of the page between night and day.

People make a great deal of the flowers of spring and the leaves of autumn, but for me a night like this, with a clear moon shining on snow, is the best -- and there is not a trace of color in it. I cannot describe the effect it has on me, weird and unearthly somehow. I do not understand people who find a winter evening forbidding.

His cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin.

...in a brutal country like ours where human life is cheap, it's stupid to destroy yourself for the sake of your beliefs. Beliefs, high ideals--only people living in rich countries can enjoy such luxuries.' 'Actually, it's the other way round. In a poor country the only consolation people can have is the one that comes from their beliefs.

I often wondered how it would be to tramp off into the mountains and keep going until I was exhausted, then simply sink into the snow and fall asleep. Then the wolves could have me.To want to die in the forest and be eaten by wolves: another marker of incipient madness.

Never Forget Who You Are Beacause Its Like Forgetingg Water Is Wet,The Sun Is Bright,Snow Is Cold.Its Rudunent.

I have no use for these other loves.Seal them shut in jarsand place them in the pantry. A reserve of love.Thank them for their love.They are so kind.Perhaps store them in the fridgeFor others to take.They say love is a panacea. I know it is not.Flakes of snow,no two are alike.When I am down on my knees, hopeless and angry,for the world no longer makes sense,I won't look in the pantry or fridge.It is your hand pressing on my shoulderthat makes me whole,makes me forget.What trouble? What world?

Like a forest rose the huge peaks above the slumbering village, measuring the night and heavens. They beckoned him. And something born of the snowy desolation, born of the midnight and silent grandeur, born of the great listening hollows of the night, something that lay 'twixt terror and wonder, dropped from the vast wintry spaces down into his heart-- and called him. Very softly, unrecorded in any word or thought his brain could compass, it laid its spell upon him. Fingers of snow brushed the surface of his heart. The power and quiet majesty of the winter's night appalled him....-The Glamour of the Snow

Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go?

Groundhog found fog. New snows and blue toes. Fine and dandy for Valentine candy. Snow spittin'; if you're not mitten-smitten, you'll be frostbitten! By jing-y feels spring-y.

I don't really like driving in the snow. There's something about the motion of the falling snowflakes that hurts my eyes, throws my sense of balance all to hell. It's like tumbling into a field of stars.

Three scents accompany my memories of this place: cut wood, poppy-seed bread, and the soft, crisp smell of snow.

They were playing old Bob Dylan, more than perfect for narrow Village streets close to Christmas and the snow whirling down in big feathery flakes, the kind of winter where you want to be walking down a city street with your arm around a girl like on the old record cover

In the summer heat the reapers say, “We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair.

The sound we hear when it snows is the soft song of the white beauty!

He placed a pinch of snow on his tongue and thought of making snow ice cream with Frank and their mother when they were small boys - 'First you stir in the vanilla' - Frank standing on a stool on his wondrously functional pre-Libya legs, the bullet that would sever his spinal cord still twenty-five years away but already approaching: a woman giving birth to a child who will someday pull the trigger on a gun, a designer sketching the weapon or its precursor, a dictator making a decision that will spark in the fullness of time into the conflagration that Frank will go overseas to cover for Reuters, the pieces of a pattern drifting closer together.

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.

I don't want you to go back to Miami already."t"You don't? You could have your house all to yourself." Her voice was whisper soft.t"I don't want my house all to myself. I like you in it. I like watching the yoga."t"You could get cable. They have lots of yoga shows on cable."tHe moved a little closer, and she stretched her legs out in front of her. "It would be quite the same as watching it live," he said.

Cath exhaled. Then inhaled. Her chest was so tight, it hurt both ways. Levi shouldn't get to make her feel this way - he shouldn't even have access to her chest.

I love early snow now, though. Especially snow that happens when you least expect it and just sprinkles down for a while. It feels like a secret.

Cupping a cheek in each hand, he lifted her back up to his desk and pressed his hips hard into hers.tHer eyes were worried. "But people keep coming---"t"The next person to come is going to be you," he said.

There were, in Feo's experience, five kinds of cold. There was wind cold, which Feo barely felt. It was fussy and loud and turned your cheeks as red as if you'd been slapped, but couldn't kill you even if it tried. There was snow cold, which plucked at your arms and chapped your lips, but brought real rewards. It was Feo's favorite weather: The snow was soft and good for making snow wolves. There was ice cold, which might take the skin off your palm if you let it, but probably wouldn't if you were careful. Ice cold smelled sharp and knowing. It often came with blue skies and was good for skating. Feo had respect for ice cold. Then there was hard cold, which was when the ice cold got deeper and deeper until at the end of a month you couldn't remember if the summer had ever really existed. Hard cold could be cruel. Birds died in midflight. It was the kind of cold that you booted and kicked your way through.And then there was blind cold. Blind cold smelled of metal and granite. It took all the sense out of your brain and blew the snow into your eyes until they were glued shut and you had to rub spit into them before they would blink. Blind cold was forty degrees below zero. This was the kind of cold that you didn't sit down to think in, unless you wanted to be found dead in the same place in May or June.Feo had felt blind cold only once.

For the listener, who listens in the snow, / And, nothing himself, beholds /Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Thunderstorms are as much our friends as the sunshine.

Spiders evidently as surprised by the weather as the rest of us: their webs were still everywhere - little silken laundry lines with perfect snowflakes hung out in rows to dry.

On increasingly warm nice days I liked to sit toward noon on the bench encircling the cherry tree and look at the bare trees, the freshly plowed fields, the green strips of winter planting, the meadows that were already sprouting, and through the fragrance which swells out of the ground with the advent of spring contemplate the mountains, gleaming with the colossal quantities of snow still on them.

The snow was endless, a heavy blanket on the outdoors; it had a way about it. A beauty. But I knew that, like many things, beauty could be deceiving.