No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
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.
Spring, summer, and fall fill us with hope; winter alone reminds us of the human condition.
Blustery cold days should be spend propped up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a pile of comic books.
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.
Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.
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.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
There's always, always a choice. My options might really, truly suck, but that doesn't mean there isn't a choice.
It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.
Rest. Heal. Sleep. I shall most likely kill you on the morrow.” “You? A Princess Bride quote?” I croaked. “What is that?” she asked.
As the years pass, I am coming more and more to understand that it is the common, everyday blessings of our common everyday lives for which we should be particularly grateful. They are the things that fill our lives with comfort and our hearts with gladness -- just the pure air to breathe and the strength to breath it; just warmth and shelter and home folks; just plain food that gives us strength; the bright sunshine on a cold day; and a cool breeze when the day is warm.
Ever see a skinny guy on a cold day? You know they tremble like Chihuahuas. Then you see a fat guy in a tank top - nine degrees, he's sweatin'. Look at 'Titanic,' remember the boat goes into the icy cold waters? Little skinny Leonardo: dead. Final scene, Kathy Bates on a rowboat, coat open, eating a hotdog.
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
Prayer is like lying awake at night, afraid, with your head under the cover, hearing only the beating of your own heart. It is like a bird that has blundered down the flue and is caught indoors and flutters at the windowpanes. It is like standing a long time on a cold day, knocking at a shut door.
In Brazil, even inside the same city, people from different parts dress differently. Sao Paulo, for example, is more connected to global trends and urban movements. Rio de Janeiro is more influenced by the beach, and has a sort of Cali vibe with the way people dress. Porto Alegre down in the south has a hard winter, so people have to dress to face the cold days.
It was a cold day but the sun was out and the trees were like great bonfires against gray distant fields and hills.
Sometimes, in a moral struggle, we discover the right thing to do - just as, on some cold day long ago, we discovered mittens pinned to our coat sleeve.
I know it's not thematically in tune with my new job and all, but I find it effective. Build a man a fire and he's warm for a day," I say. "But set a man on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life. Tao of Pratchett. I live by it.
Karrin, eh?" Thomas asked. I nodded. "She's real serious about order. A man dying, she can understand. A man coming back. That's different." "Isn't she Catholic?" Thomas asked. "Don't they have a guy?
Thwart," I said. "To prevent someone from accomplishing something by means of visiting gratuitous violence upon his smarmy person." "I'm pretty sure that isn't the definition." Sarissa said. "It is today.
Her flawless pale skin was also spangled with gemstones. I don't know how they'd been attached, but they clung to her and sent little flashes of color glittering around the cavern when she moved. They were concentrated most densely around her ... well ... She'd been, ah, vajazzled.
You know how you always expect someone to think the same as you and then your like, really shocked when they don't? Like when it's a cold day and you turn to the person next to you and say, 'Its so cold, aren't you cold?' and then they say 'no.' It's kinda like, 'what, are you a communist?'
Believe me, it would be a long, long, cold day before I decide to warm up next to Rupert Murdoch.
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