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
Relaxing Winter Season quotations
It is a great thing to know the season for speech and the season for silence.
And for the season it was winter, and they that know the winters of that country know them to be sharp and violent, and subject to cruel and fierce storms.
Long stormy spring-time, wet contentious April, winter chilling the lap of very May; but at length the season of summer does come.
Autumn is a second spring where every leaf is a flower.
Gifts of time and love are surely the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas.
The fire is the main comfort of the camp, whether in summer or winter, and is about as ample at one season as at another. It is as well for cheerfulness as for warmth and dryness.
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it. And if I was a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
The winter will be short, the summer long, The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, Tasting of cider and of scuppernong; All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all. The squirrels in their silver fur will fall Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot.
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 through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.
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.
Let us love winter, for it is the spring of genius.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.
Winter is the king of showmen, Turning tree stumps into snowmen And houses into birthday cakes And spreading sugar over lakes. Smooth and clean and frosty white, The world looks good enough to bite. That’s the season to be young, Catching snowflakes on your tongue. Snow is snowy when it’s snowing, I’m sorry it’s slushy when it’s going.
I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.
Love is like roses. It blooms one season and dies next.
The cold was our pride, the snow was our beauty.
It fell and fell, lacing day and night together in a milky haze, making everything quieter as it fell, so that winter seemed to partake of religion in a way no other season did, hushed, solemn.
I played everything. I played lacrosse, baseball, hockey, soccer, track and field. I was a big believer that you played hockey in the winter and when the season was over you hung up your skates and you played something else.
There are only two seasons - winter and Baseball.
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil.
There is no season such delight can bring, as summer, autumn, winter and the spring.
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.
Seasons change, but people don't
To your enemy, forgiveness. To an opponent, tolerance. To a friend, heart. To a customer, service. To all, charity. To every child, a good example. To you, respect.
Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.
I was just thinking, if it is really religion with these nudist colonies, they sure must turn atheists in the wintertime.
In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October.
Only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself.
Pro football is a game; not a war. It's for win or lose, not life or death... but say that in the summer, for winter brings the playoffs, and a season is at stake.
The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches.
In winter the stars seem to have rekindled their fires, the moon achieves a fuller triumph, and the heavens wear a look of a more exalted simplicity.
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape.
Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.
Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.
No dish changes quite so much from season to season as soup.
Summer's soups come chilled, in pastel colors strewn with herbs. If hot they are sheer insubstantial broths afloat with seafood. In winter they turn steaming and thick to serve with slabs of rustic, crusty bread.
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through the mountains, a torch flung to the trees.
Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.
Winter is not a season, it's an occupation.
Spring comes with flowers, autumn with the moon, summer with the breeze, winter with snow. When idle concerns don't fill your thoughts, that's your best season.
There is really a je ne sais quoi about turkey cooking - the air of festivity, the family squabbles, the constant basting - that does not apply to the turkey breast, which is, really, a convenience of food... A turkey without seasonal angst is like a baseball game without a national anthem, a winter without snow, a birthday party without candles.