In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape – the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.
Even in winter an isolated patch of snow has a special quality.
People don’t notice whether it’s winter or summer when they’re happy.
There are only two seasons – winter and Baseball.
I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.
It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.
The problem with winter sports is that – follow me closely here – they generally take place in winter.
Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.
Every mile is two in winter.
God is day and night, winter and summer, war and peace, surfeit and hunger.
Nature looks dead in winter because her life is gathered into her heart. She withers the plant down to the root that she may grow it up again fairer and stronger. She calls her family together within her inmost home to prepare them for being scattered abroad upon the face of the earth.
One kind word can warm three winter months.
The tendinous part of the mind, so to speak, is more developed in winter; the fleshy, in summer. I should say winter had given the bone and sinew to literature, summer the tissues and the blood.
What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.
Spring, summer, and fall fill us with hope; winter alone reminds us of the human condition.
The pine stays green in winter… wisdom in hardship.
Let us love winter, for it is the spring of genius.
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.
Many human beings say that they enjoy the winter, but what they really enjoy is feeling proof against it.
Winter is nature’s way of saying, “Up yours.”
You can’t get too much winter in the winter.
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.
One of my current pet theories is that the winter is a kind of evangelist, more subtle than Billy Graham, of course, but of the same stuff.
Shirley Ann Grau
Winter is not a season, it’s an occupation.
Winter is the time of promise because there is so little to do – or because you can now and then permit yourself the luxury of thinking so.
The color of springtime is in the flowers; the color of winter is in the imagination.
Welcome, winter. Your late dawns and chilled breath make me lazy, but I love you nonetheless.
While I relish our warm months, winter forms our character and brings out our best.
Winter either bites with its teeth or lashes with its tail.
Winter is the season in which people try to keep the house as warm as it was in the summer, when they complained about the heat.
To shorten winter, borrow some money due in spring.
I was just thinking, if it is really religion with these nudist colonies, they sure must turn atheists in the wintertime.
Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind, thou art not so unkind as man’s ingratitude.
Now is the winter of our discontent.