Wintry Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
a-wintry-maelstrom-of-immortal-snow
there-is-something-dark-wintry-about-atmosphere-later-middle-ages
through-the-wintry-winds-and-rain-of-the-north-umbrian-land
for-mankind-youve-made-your-wintry-bed-a-shipwreck-your-own-mortality-marie-symeou
over-wintry-forest-winds-howl-in-rage-with-no-leaves-to-blow-natsume-soseki
in-france-marcel-said-with-wintry-dignity-accidents-occur-in-bedroom-not-kitchen-s-j-perelman
on-rachmaninoff-he-was-most-russian-them-all-like-cathedral-in-snow-holy-wintry-infinite-he-was-all-russias-dagmar-godowsky
apart-from-anything-else-i-find-boots-are-too-hot-except-in-wintry-weather-at-home-i-usually-wear-sweater-shirt-slacks
jeremy-there-are-many-things-i-would-do-to-help-you-but-digging-hole-in-wintry-earth-with-my-bare-hands-that-you-can-bury-corpse-dog-youve-mark-corrigan
to-wish-for-happiest-days-is-to-wish-for-season-sorrow-for-it-is-only-after-prolonged-wintry-darkness-that-summer-sun-appears-to-shine-at-its-brightest-richelle-e-goodrich
part-you-died-each-year-when-leaves-fell-from-trees-their-branches-were-bare-against-wind-cold-wintry-light-ernest-hemingway
the-clouds-are-scudding-across-moona-misty-light-is-on-seathe-wind-in-shrouds-has-wintry-tuneand-foam-is-flying-free-bayard-taylor
chill-air-wintry-winds-my-ear-has-grown-familiar-with-your-song-i-hear-it-in-opening-year-i-listen-it-cheers-me-long-henry-wadsworth-longfellow
wolf-star-shines-on-wintry-high-gazing-northward-by-by-ice-snow-on-shorelines-lie-wind-spirits-haunt-sky-ft-mckinstry
freshly-cut-christmas-trees-smelling-stars-snow-pine-resin-inhale-deeply-fill-your-soul-with-wintry-night-john-j-geddes
freshly-cut-christmas-trees-smelling-stars-snow-pine-resin-inhale-deeply-fill-your-soul-with-wintry-night-john-geddes
and-spring-arose-on-garden-fair-like-spirit-love-felt-everywhere-and-each-flower-herb-on-earths-dark-breast-rose-from-dreams-its-wintry-rest-percy-bysshe-shelley
i-knew-stars-flowers-birds-the-gray-wintry-sides-many-glens-and-did-but-half-remember-human-words-in-converse-with-mountains-moors-fens-john-millington-synge
the-man-new-october-takes-reins-and-early-frost-is-on-his-shoulder-the-poor-november-man-sees-fire-rain-snow-mist-wintry-gale-rachel-unthank-the-winterset
heap-high-farmers-wintry-hoard-heap-high-golden-corn-no-richer-gift-has-autumn-poured-from-out-her-lavish-horn-john-greenleaf-whittier
Pudge/Colonel: "I am sorry that I have not talked to you before. I am not staying for graduation. I leave for Japan tomorrow morning. For a long time, I was mad at you. The way you cut me out of everything hurt me, and so I kept what I knew to myself. But then even after I wasn't mad anymore, I still didn't say anything, and I don't even really know why. Pudge had that kiss, I guess. And I had this secret. You've mostly figured this out, but the truth is that I saw her that night, I'd stayed up late with Lara and some people, and then I was falling asleep and I heard her crying outside my back window. It was like 3:15 that morning, maybe, amd I walked out there and saw her walking through the soccer field. I tried to talk to her, but she was in a hurry. She told me that her mother was dead eight years that day, and that she always put flowers on her mother's grave on the anniversary but she forgot that year. She was out there looking for flowers, but it was too early-too wintry. That's how I knew about January 10. I still have no idea whether it was suicide. She was so sad, and I didn't know what to say or do. I think she counted on me to be the one person who would always say and do the right things to help her, but I couldn"t. I just thought she was looking for flowers. I didn't know she was going to go. She was drunk just trashed drunk, and I really didn't think she would drive or anything. I thought she would just cry herself to sleep and then drive to visit her mom the next day or something. She walked away, and then I heard a car start. I don't know what I was thinking. So I let her go too. And I'm sorry. I know you loved her. It was hard not to." Takumi

John Green
pudgecolonel-i-am-sorry-that-i-have-not-talked-to-you-before-i-am-not-staying-for-graduation-i-leave-for-japan-tomorrow-morning-for-long-time-i-was-mad-at-you-the-way-you-cut-me-
Maybe it's not metaphysics. Maybe it's existential. I'm talking about the individual US citizen's deep fear, the same basic fear that you and I have and that everybody has except nobody ever talks about it except existentialists in convoluted French prose. Or Pascal. Our smallness, our insignificance and mortality, yours and mine, the thing that we all spend all our time not thinking about directly, that we are tiny and at the mercy of large forces and that time is always passing and that every day we've lost one more day that will never come back and our childhoods are over and our adolescence and the vigor of youth and soon our adulthood, that everything we see around us all the time is decaying and passing, it's all passing away, and so are we, so am I, and given how fast the first forty-two years have shot by it's not going to be long before I too pass away, whoever imagined that there was a more truthful way to put it than 'die, ' 'pass away, ' the very sound of it makes me feel the way I feel at dusk on a wintry Sunday-' 'And not only that, but everybody who knows me or even knows I exist will die, and then everybody who knows those people and might even conceivably have even heard of me will die, and so on, and the gravestones and monuments we spend money to have put in to make sure we're remembered, these'll last what-a hundred years? two hundred?-and they'll crumble, and the grass and insects my decomposition will go to feed will die, and their offspring, or if I'm cremated the trees that are nourished by my windblown ash will die or get cut down and decay, and my urn will decay, and before maybe three or four generations it will be like I never existed, not only will I have passed away but it will be like I was never here, and people in 2104 or whatever will no more think of Stuart A. Nichols Jr. than you or I think of John T. Smith, 1790 to 1864, of Livingston, Virginia, or some such. That everything is on fire, slow fire, and we're all less than a million breaths away from an oblivion more total than we can even bring ourselves to even try to imagine, in fact, probably that's why the manic US obsession with production, produce, produce, impact the world, contribute, shape things, to help distract us from how little and totally insignificant and temporary we are.

David Foster Wallace
maybe-its-not-metaphysics-maybe-its-existential-im-talking-about-individual-us-citizens-deep-fear-same-basic-fear-that-you-i-have-that-everybody-has-except-nobody-ever-talks-abou
Gentlemen of the jury: The best friend a man has in this world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it the most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads. The one absolutely unselfish friend that a man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him and the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous is his dog. Gentlemen of the jury: A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounters with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens. If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death.

George Graham Vest
gentlemen-jury-the-best-friend-man-has-in-this-world-may-turn-against-him-become-his-enemy-his-son-daughter-that-he-has-reared-with-loving-care-may-prove-ungrateful-those-who-are
And it was in that moment of distress and confusion that the whip of terror laid its most nicely calculated lash about his heart. It dropped with deadly effect upon the sorest spot of all, completely unnerving him. He had been secretly dreading all the time that it would come - and come it did. Far overhead, muted by great height and distance, strangely thinned and wailing, he heard the crying voice of Defago, the guide. The sound dropped upon him out of that still, wintry sky with an effect of dismay and terror unsurpassed. The rifle fell to his feet. He stood motionless an instant, listening as it were with his whole body, then staggered back against the nearest tree for support, disorganized hopelessly in mind and spirit. To him, in that moment, it seemed the most shattering and dislocating experience he had ever known, so that his heart emptied itself of all feeling whatsoever as by a sudden draught. 'Oh! oh! This fiery height! Oh, my feet of fire! My burning feet of fire... ' ran in far, beseeching accents of indescribable appeal this voice of anguish down the sky. Once it called - then silence through all the listening wilderness of trees. And Simpson, scarcely knowing what he did, presently found himself running wildly to and fro, searching, calling, tripping over roots and boulders, and flinging himself in a frenzy of undirected pursuit after the Caller. Behind the screen of memory and emotion with which experience veils events, he plunged, distracted and half-deranged, picking up false lights like a ship at sea, terror in his eyes and heart and soul. For the Panic of the Wilderness had called to him in that far voice - the Power of untamed Distance - the Enticement of the Desolation that destroys. He knew in that moment all the pains of someone hopelessly and irretrievably lost, suffering the lust and travail of a soul in the final Loneliness. A vision of Defago, eternally hunted, driven and pursued across the skyey vastness of those ancient forests fled like a flame across the dark ruin of his thoughts... It seemed ages before he could find anything in the chaos of his disorganized sensations to which he could anchor himself steady for a moment, and think... The cry was not repeated; his own hoarse calling brought no response; the inscrutable forces of the Wild had summoned their victim beyond recall - and held him fast. ("The Wendigo")

Algernon Blackwood
and-it-was-in-that-moment-distress-confusion-that-whip-terror-laid-its-most-nicely-calculated-lash-about-his-heart-it-dropped-with-deadly-effect-upon-sorest-spot-all-completely-u
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