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Best Winter Quotes Collection
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In winter the very ground seemed to reach up and grab the elderly, yanking them to earth as though hungry for them.
.......the poor of the world cannot be made rich by redistribution of wealth. poverty can't be eliminated by punishing people who've escaped poverty, taking their money and giving it as a reward to people who have failed to escape. economic leveling doesn't work. whether we call it marxism, progressive reform, or clintonomics, the result is the same slide into the stygian pit. communists worship satan; socialists think perdition is a good system run by bad men; and liberals want us to go to hell because it's warm there in the winter.
The sensation reminds him of the first snow of winter, for those first few hours when everything is blanketed in white, soft and quiet.
The first year i had money, i really went shopping. i got really caught up in it. i bought all my brothers sets of luggage, and i bought 'em winter coats from giorgio armani - winter coats. and i got a pair of socks from this brother.
Seventy-five years. that's how much time you get if you're lucky. seventy-five years. seventy-five winters, seventy-five springtimes, seventy-five summers, and seventy-five autumns. when you look at it like that, it's not a lot of time, is it? don't waste them. get your head out of the rat race and forget about the superficial things that pre-occupy your existence and get back to what's important now.
The best thing would be to break your neck, but you'd probably just break your leg and then you couldn't do a thing. you'd yell at the top of your lungs, but nobody;d hear you, and you couldn't expect anybody to find you, and you'd have centipedes and spiders crawling all over you, and the bones of the ones who died before are scattered all around you, and it's dark and soggy, and way overhead there's this tiny, tiny circle of light like a winter moon. you die there in this place, little by little, all by yourself.
The morning air of the pasture turned steadily cooler. day by day, the bright golden leaves of the birches turned more spotted as the first winds of winter slipped between the withered branches and across the highlands toward the southeast. stopping in the center of the pasture, i could hear the winds clearly. no turning back, they pronounced. the brief autumn was gone.
Age certainly hadn't conferred any smarts on me. character maybe, but mediocrity is a constant, as one russian writer put it. russian writers have a way with aphorisms. they probably spend all winter thinking them up.
Music brings a warm glow to my vision, thawing mind and muscle from their endless wintering.
With the advent of winter, her eyes seemed to take on a greater transparency, a transparency that lead nowhere. occassionally, for no particular reason, naoko would gaze into my eyes as if searching for something. each time i was filled with odd sensations of lonliness and inadequecy.
Winter near the shore is cold. the wind kicks up a salty mist and elephant seals come to shore to trumpet and rut and birth their pups. retired people put sweaters on their lap dogs and drag them down the street on retractable leashes in a nightly parade of doggy humiliation. surfers don their wetsuits against the chill of storm waves and white sharks adjust their diets to include shrink-wrapped dude-snacks on fiberglass crackers.
How can the mind be so imperfect?" she says with a smile. i look at my hands. bathed in the moonlight, they seem like statues, proportioned to no purpose. "it may well be imperfect," i say, "but it leaves traces. and we can follow those traces, like footsteps in the snow." "where do the lead?" "to oneself," i answer. "that's where the mind is. without the mind, nothing leads anywhere." i look up. the winter moon is brilliant, over the town, above the wall. "not one thing is your fault," i comfort her.
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