I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.
Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.
Let us love winter, for it is the spring of genius.
Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.
Now is the winter of our discontent.
A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water.
Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.
No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.
Spring, summer, and fall fill us with hope; winter alone reminds us of the human condition.
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Like the seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
If we had not winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.
Antisthenes says that in a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time then thaw and become audible, so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer.
What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.
Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.
Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.
And for the season it was winter, and they that know the winters of that country know them to be sharp and violent, and subject to cruel and fierce storms.
The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches.
In a way Winter is the real Spring - the time when the inner things happen, the resurgence of nature.
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