I watch the springs, the summers, the autumns; And when comes the winter snow monotonous, I shut all the doors and shutters To build in the night my fairy palace.
Nature has no mercy at all. Nature says, "I'm going to snow. If you have on a bikini and no snowshoes, that's tough. I am going to snow anyway."
The snow goose need not bathe to make itself white. Neither need you do anything but be yourself.
Advice is like snow - the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper in sinks into the mind.
Then come the wild weather, come sleet or come snow, we will stand by each other, however it blow.
Some sorrows are but footprints in the snow, which the genial sun effaces, or, if it does not wholly efface, changes into dimples.
There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you.... In spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself.
The snow began to fall again, drifting against the windows, politely begging entrance and then falling with disappointment to the ground.
Snow and adolescence are the only problems that disappear if you ignore them long enough.
There is still vitality under the winter snow, even though to the casual eye it seems to be dead.
I hope the snow covers everything so all the footsteps are silenced, and the whole city can be at peace.
The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white.
Thank goodness for the first snow, it was a reminder--no matter how old you became and how much you'd seen, things could still be new if you were willing to believe they still mattered.
Unless we make Christmas an occasion to share our blessings, all the snow in Alaska won't make it 'white'.
The sensual caress of waist deep cold smoke.... glory in skiing virgin snow, in being the first to mark the powder with the signature of their run.
I am not sure that any sight or sound on earth is as exquisite as the hushed descent of a sky full of snow.
The snow has not yet left the earth but spring is already asking to enter your heart.
And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.
Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies, Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies; The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare, And shed their substance on the floating air.
The silence of snow, thought the man sitting just behind the bus driver.
But where are the snows of yesteryear?
But however happy you are feeling, you can't talk with your mouth full of snow.
Getting an inch of snow is like winning 10 cents in the lottery.
The first snow always startles. It covers the tricycle in the driveway, turning its frame into an abstact sculpture that says: See how quickly yesterday turns into today.
Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, their beards of icicles and snow.
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