She looked at the produce stalls, a row of jewels in a case, the colors more subtle in the winter, a Pantone display consisting only of greens, without the raspberries and plums of summer, the...

Beautiful winter means beautiful spring! When you look at a great winter scenery, see the flowers, see the bees, see the butterflies, they are all there!

What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.

Though Anne was born in Alabama and schooled in Mississippi, she had traveled North, and, like many Southerners, gained a theoretical understanding of the concept of cold. But the mind is an overprotective parent. What...

You are my winter suddenness—a glass of red wine spilt across a white tablecloth

Winter changes into stone the water of heaven and the heart of man.

They had laughed. They had leaned on each other and laughed until the tears had come, while everything else–the cold, and where he’d go in it–was outside, for a while anyway.

Standing by the frozen glass, he stared down at the icy, barely lit streets running towards the river Seine, the bell-clanging local church, then to the sky like black lead. (“Israbel”)

The heart can get really cold if all you’ve known is winter.

Hear me out. I cannot deny that I would’ve liked to have made babies with you. A little girl with your hair and eyes would’ve been the delight of my life. But it is you...

The days were longer then (for time, like money, is measured by our needs), when summer afternoons were spacious, and the clock ticked slowly in the winter evenings.

Ah! comme la neige a neigé!Ma vitre est un jardin de givre.Ah! comme la neige a neigé!Qu’est-ce que le spasme de vivreÀ la douleur que j’ai, que j’ai!Tous les étangs gisent gelés,Mon me est noire:...

I miss the snow. I miss looking at it, walking in it, tasting it. I used to love those days when it was so cold everyone else would be tucked away inside trying to stay...

Winter gold: the sparrow’s footprints in the snow.

Groundhog found fog. New snows and blue toes. Fine and dandy for Valentine candy. Snow spittin’; if you’re not mitten-smitten, you’ll be frostbitten! By jing-y feels spring-y.

in Japan you use it when YOU are under the weather & you don’t want other people to get sick, it is the polite thing to do” wow! that’s a lesson I will never forget

Along with rising and falling water, winter is the province of wind. When the sea-breath and mountain-roar bend the hemlocks of these hills, the birds hang on as best they can.

Oh deep winter snow, pale executioner, thou who delights in a slow, torturous death.

The mountain trees that grew between the pines were a brilliant blaze of fall colors, like fire against the emerald green of the pines, firs and pruces. And it was, as I’d told myself long...

Franklin knew that the truth lay with the winter night: the world was silent and black-and-white.

Withstanding the cold develops vigor for the relaxing days of spring and summer. Besides, in this matter as in many others, it is evident that nature abhors a quitter.

Outside the window, there slides past that unimaginable and deserted vastness where night is coming on, the sun declining in ghastly blood-streaked splendour like a public execution across, it would seem, half a continent, where...

And you say Paris is gay, but it has its down times. You say go in the spring and not the summer, because watching the autumn creep through the Rive Gauche preparing for winter is...

The birds fly south for the winter not because it’s cold, but because they have wings. Similarly, love has the ultimate flight pattern, and that pattern is plaid.

Winter is coming.

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...

What was that you gave me to eat?” Winter panicked.A Filler Crisp,” Clover said, his eyes seventy percent concerned and thirty percent mischievous.

The promise of spring’s arrival is enough to get anyone through the bitter winter!

Like some winter animal the moon licks the salt of your hand,Yet still your hair foams violet as a lilac treeFrom which a small wood-owl calls.

Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.

The evening’s light, silvery, casts its dull brightness onto the trees–trees gelid in this blue light of winter. But whiteness dominates with the pines and evergreens steeped in vibrant grades of silver. I hear notes...

She went to the window. A fine sheen of sugary frost covered everything in sight, and white smoke rose from chimneys in the valley below the resort town. The window opened to a rush of...