Cold Quotes - Page 17

• And he wishes, in the cold quiet of his archer's heart, that he himself could feel the intensity of their reconciliations as strongly as he feels that of their battles.

  David Foster Wallace

  Archer, Heart, Wish

  David Foster Wallace (2014). “Girl With Curious Hair”, p.301, Hachette UK

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• Yet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word, The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword! Some kill their love when they are young, And some when they are old; Some strangle with the hands of Lust, Some with the hands of Gold: The kindest use a knife, because The dead so soon grow cold. Some love too little, some too long, Some sell, and others buy; Some do the deed with many tears, And some without a sigh: For each man kills the thing he loves, Yet each man does not die.

  Oscar Wilde

  Kissing, Men, Hands

  The Ballad of Reading Gaol pt. 1, st. 7 (1898) See Roberts 1

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• Cold and silence. Nothing quieter than snow. The sky screams to deliver it, a hundred banshees flying on the edge of the blizzard. But once the snow covers the ground, it hushes as still as my heart.

  Laurie Halse Anderson

  Nature, Heart, Sky

  Laurie Halse Anderson (2011). “Speak”, p.130, Macmillan

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• On Harry dug, deeper and deeper into the hard, cold earth, subsuming his grief in sweat, denying the pain in his scar.

  J. K. Rowling

  Pain, Grief, Sweat

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• There was no sun; there was no light. I was dying. I couldn't remember what the sky looked like. But I didn't die. I was lost to a sea of cold, and then I was reborn into a world of warmth.

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Sea, Sky, Light

  Maggie Stiefvater (2009). “Shiver”, p.7, Scholastic Inc.

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• I'm tired of being scared, and I know you are too. Not that there isn't alot to be scared of in this world today, between the non-stop headlines about wars and nuclear power plants and terrorists and assasinations and civil unrest and economic uncertainty and political doublespeak and insane weather and an environment that's becoming unhealthier by the day. But a point comes when it's too much to deal with, and thinking about it accomplishes nothing more than sending you to bed with a cold cloth on your head.

  Sylvia Browne

  War, Tired, Thinking

  Sylvia Browne, Lindsay Harrison (2010). “End Of Days: Predictions and prophecies about the end of the world”, p.6, Hachette UK

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• Writing is like hunting. There are brutally cold afternoons with nothing in sight, only the wind and your breaking heart. Then the moment when you bag something big. The entire process is beyond intoxicating.

  Kate Braverman

  Writing, Heart, Hunting

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• Then I realized that most of the world's problems stemmed from macho dickheadism, and if I cold defeat that I could save the world.

  Carrie Vaughn

  World, Problem, Defeat

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• One might think that a boy who was out in the snow for so long would get cold, but Max was not. He was warm, partly because he had on many layers, and partly because boys who are part wolf and part wind do not get cold.

  Dave Eggers

  Boys, Thinking, Wind

  Dave Eggers (2009). “The Wild Things”, p.16, Vintage

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• She's very pretty but she's honey from the icebox, if you know what I mean. Cold sweets won't spread.

  Saul Bellow

  Sweet, Mean, Honey

  Saul Bellow (2008). “Humboldt's Gift”, Penguin Classics

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• There's nothing more annoying than cold logic and reason when you've got a good fit going.

  James Patterson

  Logic, Annoying, Fit

  James Patterson (2010). “Maximum Ride Boxed Set #1”, p.51, Hachette UK

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• Is it snowing where you are? All the world that I see from my tower is draped in white and the flakes are coming down as big as pop-corns. It's late afternoon - the sun is just setting (a cold yellow colour) behind some colder violet hills, and I am up in my window seat using the last light to write to you.

  Jean Webster

  Writing, Yellow, White

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• Seated by her side in the narrow cabin, pressing cold compresses to her forehead and holding her while she vomited, he felt profoundly happy.

  Isabel Allende

  Cabins, Sides, Foreheads

  Isabel Allende (2015). “The House of the Spirits: A Novel”, p.107, Simon and Schuster

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• Oh, I'm developing a beautiful character! It droops a bit under cold and frost, but it does grow fast when the sun shines. That's the way with everybody. I don't agree with the theory that adversity and sorrow and disappointment develop moral strength. The happy people are the ones who are bubbling over with kindliness.

  Jean Webster

  Beautiful, Disappointment, Character

  Jean Webster (2016). “Daddy Long-Legs and Dear Enemy: Illustrated”, p.35, Jester House Publishing

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• I have to keep moving I don't want to think I'm going to work all day today I don't want to stop Don't want to let my brain catch up my thoughts How will I be able to tell them that I'm a shadow A grey patch of cold rotting life

  Henry Rollins

  Moving, Thinking, Brain

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• I am talking about ultimate deceit. I am talking about unparalleled treachery. Bottomless lies. Depths that are seen that are previously unimaginable. Darkness and shattering despair that could break bones. Paranoia and horror that could stop the heart cold. All inflicted on one's self by one's self. The soul turns schizophrenic and goes hopelessly insane.

  Henry Rollins

  Lying, Heart, Self

  Henry Rollins (1992). “Art to choke hearts ; & Pissing in the gene pool: collected writing 1985-1987”, 2 13 61

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• I remember lying in the snow, a small red spot of warm going cold, surrounded by wolves.

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Lying, Snow, Red

  Maggie Stiefvater (2011). “Shiver”, p.9, Scholastic UK

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• Great minds may have cold hearts. Form but no color. It is an incompleteness. And so they are afraid of any woman who both thinks and feels deeply.

  Sena Jeter Naslund

  Heart, Thinking, Color

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• Only one thing bothered me: at this very moment, as they say, of inexplicable bliss there would be a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach and my abdomen would be assailed by a melancholy, cold shivering. In the end I couldn't abide such happiness and ran away.

  Ivan Turgenev

  Sinking Feeling, Feelings, Would Be

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• If love wants you; if you've been melted down to stars, you will love with lungs and gills; with feathers and scales; with warm blood and cold.

  Anne Michaels

  Stars, Blood, Want

  Anne Michaels (2009). “Skin Divers”, p.20, McClelland & Stewart

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• He was weary of himself, of cold ideas and brain dreams. Life a poem? Not when you went about forever poetizing about your own life instead of living it. How innocuous it all was, and empty, empty, empty! This chasing after yourself, craftily observing your own tracks--in a circle, of course. This sham diving into the stream of life while all the time you sat angling after yourself, fishing yourself up in one curious disguise or another! If he could only be overwhelmed by something--life, love, passion--so that he could no longer shape it into poems, but had to let it shape him!

  Jens Peter Jacobsen

  Dream, Love Life, Passion

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• Inside, my soul became so cold I hated everything. I even despised the sun, for I knew I would never be able to play in its warm presence. I cringed with hate whenever I heard other children laughing, as they played outside. My stomach coiled whenever I smelled food that was about to be served to somebody else, knowing it wasn't for me.

  Dave Pelzer

  Children, Hate, Play

  Dave Pelzer (1993). “A Child Called It: One Child's Courage to Survive”, p.133, Health Communications, Inc.

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• I was in the air around him. I was in the cold mornings he had now. I was in the quiet time he spent alone. I was the girl he had chosen to kiss. He wanted, somehow to set me free. -Susie Salmon

  Alice Sebold

  Girl, Morning, Kissing

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• In the vast reaches of the dry, cold night, thousands of stars were constantly appearing, and their sparkling icicles, loosened at once, began to slip gradually toward the horizon.

  Albert Camus

  Stars, Night, Horizon

  Albert Camus (1964). “The fall, & Exile and the kingdom”, Random House Inc

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• Do you really have any idea how important you are to me? Any concept at all of how much I love you?" He pulled me tighter against his hard chest, tucking my head under his chin. I pressed my lips against his snow-cold neck. "I know how much I love you," I answered. You compare one small tree to the entire forest." I rolled my eyes, but he couldn't see. "Impossible.

  Stephenie Meyer

  Love You, Eye, Ideas

  Stephenie Meyer (2008). “Eclipse”, Little Brown & Company

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