Cold Quotes - Page 39

• Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find.

  William Shakespeare

  Daughter, Art, Queens

  William Shakespeare, Jay L. Halio (1992). “The Tragedy of King Lear”, p.109, Cambridge University Press

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• There's nothing like stories on a windy night when folks have found a warm place in a cold world.

  Stephen King

  Night, Stories, World

  Stephen King (2012). “The Wind Through the Keyhole: A Dark Tower Novel”, p.31, Simon and Schuster

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• January. It was all things. And it was one thing, like a solid door. Its cold sealed the city in a gray capsule. January was moments, and January was a year. January rained the moments down, and froze them in her memory: [...]Every human action seemed to yield a magic. January was a two-faced month, jangling like jester's bells, crackling like snow crust, pure as any beginning, grim as an old man, mysteriously familiar yet unknown, like a word one can almost but not quite define.

  Patricia Highsmith

  Memories, Men, Two

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• Then he crouches down behind it, motions for Tess and me to sit down, and begins unbuttoning his vest. I blush scarlet and thank every god in the world for the darkness surrounding us. “I’m not cold and I’m not bleeding,” I say to him. “Keep your clothes on.” The boy looks at me. I would’ve expected his bright eyes to look dimmer in the night, but instead they seem to reflect the light coming from the windows above us. He’s amused. “Who said anything about you , sweetheart?

  Marie Lu

  Eye, Boys, Night

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• He did not go much further, but sat down on the cold floor and gave himself up to complete miserableness, for a long while. He thought of himself frying bacon and eggs in his own kitchen at home - for he could feel inside that it was high time for some meal or other; but that only made him miserabler.

  J. R. R. Tolkien

  Home, Eggs, Long

  J.R.R. Tolkien (2012). “The Hobbit”, p.43, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• He seemed a part of the mute melancholy landscape, an incarnation of it's frozen woe, with all that was warm and sentient in him fast bound below the surface; but there was nothing nothing unfriendly in his silence. I simply felt that he lived in a depth of moral isolation too remote for casual access, and I had the sense that his loneliness was not merely the result of his personal plight, tragic as I guessed that to be, but had in it, as Harmon Gow had hinted, the profound accumulated cold of many Starkfield winters.

  Edith Wharton

  Loneliness, Winter, Profound

  Ethan Frome preface (1911)

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• He was addicted to me and now he has gone cold turkey. He used to send me fifty texts a day. And now he is ignoring me. It's like I was once his Barack Obama. And now I am John McCain, conceding defeat like a sad-face sock puppet, knowing I have sold the best of myself. He, my electorate, not only does not want me, he actively feels pity.

  Emma Forrest

  Turkeys, Knowing, Doe

  Emma Forrest (2012). “Your Voice in My Head”, p.158, A&C Black

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• I hope I never smell the smell of apples again!" said Fili. "My tub was full of ut. To smell apples everlastingly when you can scarcely move and are cold and sick with hunger is maddening. I could eat anything in the wide world now for hours on end - but not an apple!

  J. R. R. Tolkien

  Moving, Smell, Apples

  J.R.R. Tolkien (2012). “The Hobbit”, p.77, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• I was becoming the cold, emotionally crippled monster I always wanted to be, and I wasn’t so sure I liked it. But it was too late. The metamorphosis was already well under way.

  Marilyn Manson

  Monsters, Too Late, Way

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• At that moment, Harry fully understood for the first time why people said Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared. The look upon Dumbledore's face as he stared down at the unconscious form of Mad-Eye moody was more terrible than Harry could have ever imagined. There was no benign smile upon Dumbledore's face, no twinkle in the eyes behind the spectacles. There was cold fury in every line of the ancient face; a sense of power radiated from Dumbledore as though he were giving off burning heat.

  J. K. Rowling

  Eye, People, Giving

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• Wolves ate even mighty hunters, for there was no honor or code among predators, and everyone's guts steam the same way when torn open on a cold night.

  Warren Ellis

  Night, Honor, Hunters

  Warren Ellis (2013). “Gun Machine”, p.192, Hachette UK

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• Cold love’s the loveliest love of all. So clear, so crisp, so empty. In short, so civilized.

  Mervyn Peake

  Empty, Clear, Civilized

  Mervyn Peake (2008). “Titus Alone”, p.57, The Overlook Press

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• Grief, of course, is not something that operates according to a specific time frame, and it seems cold to suggest otherwise. Yet when we do not grasp that God is present in pain, we eventually insist on victory or, worse, blame the sufferer for not "getting over it" fast enough. This is more than a failure to extend compassion; it's an exercise in cruelty.

  Tullian Tchividjian

  Pain, Grief, Exercise

  Tullian Tchividjian (2012). “Glorious Ruin: How Suffering Sets You Free”, p.77, David C Cook

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• Reminded of favorite poem by Wendy Cope which goes: At Christmas little children sing and merry bells jingle. The cold winter air makes our hands and faces tingle. And happy families go to church and cheerily they mingle, And the whole business is unbelievably dreadful if you're single.

  Helen Fielding

  Children, Winter, Air

  Helen Fielding (2016). “Bridget Jones's Diary: Picador Classic”, p.177, Pan Macmillan

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• My "heart". Does that pitiful organ still represent anything? It lies motionless in my chest, pumping no blood, serving no purpose, and yet my feelings still seem to originate inside its cold walls. My muted sadness, my vague longing, my rare flickers of joy. They pool in the center of my chest and seep out of there, diluted and faint, but real.

  Isaac Marion

  Wall, Lying, Real

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• Your hand is cold, mine burns like fire. How blind you are, Nastenka!

  Fyodor Dostoevsky

  Fire, Hands, Blind

  Fyodor Dostoevsky (2015). “White Nights: Dostoevsky's Collections”, p.32, 谷月社

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• But her heart was so cold that she could hold ice in her mouth and it would never melt.

  Catherynne M. Valente

  Heart, Ice, Mouths

  Catherynne M. Valente (2011). “Deathless”, p.49, Macmillan

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• We feel cold, but we don't mind it, because we will not come to harm. And if we wrapped up against the cold, we wouldn't feel other things, like the bright tingle of the stars, or the music of the aurora, or best of all the silky feeling of moonlight on our skin. It's worth being cold for that.

  Philip Pullman

  Stars, Winter, Feelings

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• I nod like I'm not at all unnerved by this new cold side to him. Not cruel like his father. Not warm like the husband who sought me out on quiet nights. Something in between. This Linden has never woven his fingers through mine, never chosen me from a line of weary Gathered girls, never said he loved me in a myriad of coloured lights. We are nothing to each other.

  Lauren DeStefano

  Girl, Husband, Father

  Lauren DeStefano (2013). “Sever”, p.19, Simon and Schuster

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• I wrapped my arms around me as tightly as I could, and stared up at the stars. Had I not been so cold and wanting to escape so badly, I could have stared at them forever: They were amazingly beautiful, so dense and bright. My eyes could get lost up there if I left them looking long enough. [...] They swallowed me up. They were like a hundred thousand tiny candles, sending out hope.

  Lucy Christopher

  Beautiful, Stars, Eye

  Lucy Christopher (2014). “Stolen”, p.62, Scholastic Inc.

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• Oh! Your hand is cold." Ashley cupped her fingers against her shirt to warm them. "I've been dead for seven years," Noah said. "That's as warm as they get.

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Hands, Years, Seven

  Maggie Stiefvater (2012). “The Raven Boys”, p.42, Scholastic Inc.

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• I held out my hot dog, which had grown cold. “Do you want this?” “No way. You’re going to need it. If anything bad happens, just take a bite. Ten seconds later, you’ll feel all warm and happy inside.

  Becca Fitzpatrick

  Dog, Hot, Needs

  Becca Fitzpatrick (2013). “The Complete Hush, Hush Saga: includes Hush, Hush; Crescendo; Silence and Finale”, p.485, Simon and Schuster

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• I couldn't hear a thing in the world but you. And it was so cold then, and so silent, and I loved you so much. Now it's hot and dead quiet again, and I love you still.

  John Green

  Love You, Hot, World

  John Green (2008). “An Abundance of Katherines”, p.100, Penguin

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• I can see myself watching him shave every morning. And at other time I see us in that house and see how one bright day (or a day like this, so cold your mind shifts every time the wind does) he will wake up and decide it's all wrong. I'm sorry, he'll say. I have to leave now.

  Junot Diaz

  Morning, Sorry, Wind

  Junot Diaz (2012). “This Is How You Lose Her”, p.43, Faber & Faber

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• Jesus was not sent here to teach the people to build magnificent churches and temples amidst the cold wretched huts and dismal hovels. He came to make the human heart a temple, and the soul an altar, and the mind a priest.

  Khalil Gibran

  Jesus, Heart, People

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