Cold Quotes - Page 12

• I know that man is capable of great deeds. But if he isn't capable of great emotion, well, he leaves me cold.

  Albert Camus

  Life, Men, Deeds

  Albert Camus (1972). “The Plague”, eBookEden.com

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• There is nothing in your budget for joy. No books, no flowers, no music, not even a cold beer. And there is nothing in your budget to give away to someone else. We don’t help people who don’t have better values than you do.

  Robert Fulghum

  Flower, Book, Beer

  Robert Fulghum (2004). “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten: Uncommon Thoughts on Common Things”, p.95, Ballantine Books

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• When Josey woke up and saw the feathery frost on her windowpane, she smiled. Finally, it was cold enough to wear long coats and tights. It was cold enough for scarves and shirts worn in layers, like camouflage. It was cold enough for her lucky red cardigan, which she swore had a power of its own. She loved this time of year. Summer was tedious with the light dresses she pretended to be comfortable in while secretly sure she looked like a loaf of white bread wearing a belt. The cold was such a relief.

  Sarah Addison Allen

  Summer, White, Light

  Sarah Addison Allen (2008). “The Sugar Queen”, p.1, Bantam

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• In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold

  Alfred Lord Tennyson

  Weed, Clothes, Wraps

  Alfred, Lord Tennyson (2014). “Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Selected Poetry: A Broadview Anthology of British Literature Edition”, p.98, Broadview Press

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• He lay listening to the water drip in the woods. Bedrock, this. The cold and the silence. The ashes of the late world carried on the bleak and temporal winds to and fro in the void. Carried forth and scattered and carried forth again. Everything uncoupled from its shoring. Unsupported in the ashen air. Sustained by a breath, trembling and brief. If only my heart were stone.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Heart, Air, Wind

  Cormac McCarthy (2010). “The Road”, p.10, Pan Macmillan

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• Adam swore harshly. "New werewolves are dangerous, woman. Especially when they are cold and hungry." He looked at Mac, and his voice changed completely, the heat and anger gone, "Mercy, come here." I didn't look down to see what he'd noticed in Mac's face. I took a step, but Mac was wrapped around my left leg. I stopped before I fell. "Uhm. I'm a little stuck for the moment.

  Patricia Briggs

  Voice, Looks, Gone

  Patricia Briggs (2011). “The Mercy Thompson Collection”, p.48, Penguin

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• The primitive in each of us climbs closer to the surface during the night, for the moon sings to it, and the cold void between the stars speaks its language. To that savage self, evil can look lovely in too little light.

  Dean Koontz

  Stars, Moon, Night

  Dean Koontz (2007). “False Memory”, p.136, Bantam

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• Grief is a most peculiar thing; we’re so helpless in the face of it. It’s like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.

  Arthur Golden

  Grief, Grieving, One Day

  Arthur Golden (2008). “Memoirs Of A Geisha”, p.255, Random House

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• I hear there are people who actually enjoy moving. Sounds like a disease to me - they must be unstable. Though it does have it’s poetry, I’ll allow that. When an old dwelling starts looking desolate, a mixture of regret and anxiety comes over us and we feel like we are leaving a safe harbor for the rolling sea. As for the new place, it looks on us with alien eyes, it has nothing to say to us, it is cold.

  Jan Neruda

  Regret, Moving, Eye

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• A gentle breeze catches in the branches then and I hear it, soft and low, a murmured prayer--Gem-ma, Gem-ma--and then the leaves bend down and trail delicate fingers across my cold cheeks.

  Libba Bray

  Prayer, Branches, Down And

  Libba Bray (2009). “The Sweet Far Thing”, p.515, Simon and Schuster

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• Yes, he is here in this open field, in sunlight, among the few young trees set out to modify the bare facts-- he's here, but only because we are here. When we go, he goes with us to be your hands that never do violence, your eyes that wonder, your lives that daily praise life by living it, by laughter. He is never alone here, never cold in the field of graves.

  Denise Levertov

  Laughter, Eye, Hands

  Denise Levertov (1987). “Poems 1968-1972”, p.11, New Directions Publishing

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• I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!

  Alfred Lord Tennyson

  Hate, Heart, Men

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• Dona Crista laughed a bit. "Oh, Pip, I'd be glad for you to try. But do believe me, my dear friend, touching her heart is like bathing in ice." I imagine. I imagine it feels like bathing in ice to the person touching her. But how does it feel to her? Cold as she is, it must surely burn like fire.

  Orson Scott Card

  Believe, Heart, Fire

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• When thou are not pleased, beloved, Then my heart is sad and darkened, As the shining river darkens When the clouds drop shadows on it! When thou smilest, my beloved, Then my troubled heart is brightened, As in sunshine gleam the ripples That the cold wind makes in rivers.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Heart, Sunshine, Clouds

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (2012). “My Complete Poetical Works (Annotated Edition)”, p.389, Jazzybee Verlag

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• And then it gets so hot that they keep the supermarkets too cold. Hot, cold. Hot, cold. It gives me the runs." Mr. Landowsky

  Janet Evanovich

  Running, Giving, Hot

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• truly to enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast. Nothing exists in itself. If you flatter yourself that you are all over comfortable, and have been so a long time, then you cannot be said to be comfortable any more.

  Herman Melville

  Long, Quality, World

  Herman Melville (2006). “Moby Dick, the Whale: Easyread Comfort Edition”, p.87, ReadHowYouWant.com

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• To deny that there was this dark side of life would be like pretending that the cold of winter was somehow only a temporary illusion, a way station on the way to the higher "reality" of long, warm, pleasant summers. But summer, it turned out, was no more real than the snow that melted in wintertime.

  David Guterson

  Life, Summer, Real

  David Guterson (2009). “Snow Falling on Cedars”, p.105, A&C Black

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• If you want to catch beasts you don't see every day, You have to go places quite out of the way, You have to go places no others can get to. You have to get cold and you have too get wet, too.

  Dr. Seuss

  Want, Way, Beast

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• It is a terrible thing, this kindess that human beings do not lose. Terrible, because when we are finally naked in the dark and cold, it is all we have. We who are so rich, so full of strength, we end up with that small change. We have nothing else to give.

  Ursula K. Le Guin

  Dark, Small Changes, Giving

  Ursula K. Le Guin (2000). “The Left Hand of Darkness”, p.120, Penguin

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• I would never have supposed that inexperienced girl was capable of such cold-blooded, calculating manipulation!

  Barbara Mertz

  Girl, Manipulation, Calculating

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• Wait, I want more green. I hope I did not imply I only wanted your colors. We can't turn a cold shoulder to green, and blue, and purple, for the sake of all ordered things, how can you dismiss purple? Celi, call Nom back and tell him of my need for purple!

  Shannon Hale

  Blue, Color, Purple

  Shannon Hale (2010). “River Secrets”, p.69, A&C Black

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• A wave of blood goes up to my head, my stomach shrinks together, as if something dangerous has just missed hitting me. It's as if I've been caught stealing, or telling a lie; or as if I've heard other people talking about me, saying bad things about me, behind my back. There's the same flush of shame, of guilt and terror, and of cold disgust with myself. But I don't know where these feelings have come from, what I've done.

  Margaret Atwood

  Lying, Blood, Talking

  Margaret Atwood (1989). “Cat's Eye”, Bantam

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• When Eleanor's arm touched his he felt his hands grow cold with deadly fear lest he should lose the shadow brush with which his imagination was painting wonders of her. He watched her from the corners of his eyes as ever he did when he walked with her-- she was a feast and a folly and he wished it had been his destiny to sit forever on a haystack and see life through her green eyes.

  F. Scott Fitzgerald

  Eye, Destiny, Hands

  F. Scott Fitzgerald (2016). “This Side of Paradise”, p.180, Xist Publishing

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• Physically it's kind of lassitude, the apathy and tiredness that precedes the flu or some other illness, or death. My legs ache and feel heavy, my skin has become more sensitive to cold and to heat, to the hardness or rigidity of things. Nothing interests me, I feel uncomfortable being still but would feel even more uncomfortable if I moved. I don't know whether speaking is painful or just boring. I sit here, staring straight ahead, with no desires, no needs, hollow. I'm not even sad. I feel only passivity and indifference.

  Antonio Lobo Antunes

  Desire, Skins, Apathy

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• With a cold"--she spoke evenly, lowering her eyes a little--"now is the hardest time. Maybe even harder than dying. But this is probably as bad as it can get. You might come to fear the next time you get a cold; it will be as bad as this, but if you just hold steady, it won't be. For the rest of your life. That's how it works. You could take the negative view and live in fear: Will it happen again? But it won't hurt so much if you just accept it as a part of life." With that she looked up at me, smiling.

  Banana Yoshimoto

  Hurt, Eye, Views

  Banana Yoshimoto (2006). “Kitchen”, p.139, Grove Press

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