Winter Season Quotes
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SEASONS PASSED, FALL AND WINTER and spring and summer. Leaves blew in through the open door of Lucius Clarke’s shop, and rain, and the green outrageous hopeful light of spring. People came and went, grandmothers and doll collectors and little girls with their mothers. Edward Tulane waited. The seasons turned into years. Edward Tulane waited. He repeated the old doll’s words over and over until they wore a smooth groove of hope in his brain: Someone will come; someone will come for you.
Kate DiCamillo
Seasons may change winter to spring, but I love you until the end of time
Come what may, come what may, I will love you until my dying day
Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place
Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace
Suddenly my life doesn’t seem such a waste, it all revolves around you.
And there’s no mountain too high no river too wide
Sing out this song and I’ll be there by your side
Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide
But I love you until the end of time
Ewan McGregor
The winter was not really winter at all, and therein may lie Key West's greatest charm. If one does not have to brood upon the coming of winter and the shortening of the days and the fading of the light, then perhaps one does not have to brood upon the coming of death. When the season is gentle and untreatening and seems to renew itself daily, we come to believe that spring and the long days of summer may be eternal after all. When we see the light trapped high in the sky on a summer evening,...
James Lee Burke
I get bored. We seem to have been having a little bit more time off this winter than last winter. I'm always itching to get back in the car. It's going to get harder, so I've got to make sure that I'm doing everything I possibly can do to make sure I can start next season how I ended this season.
Dan Wheldon
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart maystand in the sun, so must you know pain. And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles ofyour life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy; And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you havealways accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief
Khalil Gibran
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.
Charles Dickens
How I will cherish you then, you grief-torn nights!Had I only received you, inconsolable sisters,on more abject knees, only buried myself with more abandon in your loosened hair. How we waste our afflictions!We study them, stare out beyond them into bleak continuance, hoping to glimpse some end. Whereas they're reallyour wintering foliage, our dark greens of meaning, oneof the...
Rainer Maria Rilke
For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Alice's robes were seasonal. She hadn't exactly plannedit that way, but that's how it evolved. In winter there was a long, warm, deep purple terry-cloth robe. In spring she changed to a newblue-and-white cotton kimono. In summer there was a white chenillebathrobe with a pattern on it, and in the fall she wore a cotton robe herhusband had bought her as a surprise gift. They were useful, practicalgarments, but when she thought about it, she realized she wore them asmuch for the feelings...
Robert Fulghum
The days were brief and attenuated and the season appeared to be fixed - neither summer nor winter, spring nor fall. A thermal haze of inexpressible sweetness, though bearing tiny bits of grit or mica, had eased into the Valley from the industrial region to the north and there were nights when the sun set at the western horizon as if it were sinking through a porous red mass, and there were days when a hard-glaring moon like bone remained fixed in a single position, prominent in the sky....
Joyce Carol Oates