#winter

My old grandmother always used to say, Summer friends will melt away like summer snows, but winter friends are friends forever. ↗

— George R.R. Martin

#friendship #george-r-r-martin #summer #winter #friendship

When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-whit! To-who!—a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doe blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-whit! To-who!—a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#winter #love

The days were longer then (for time, like money, is measured by our needs), when summer afternoons were spacious, and the clock ticked slowly in the winter evenings. ↗

— George Eliot Middlemarch

#middlemarch #summer #time #winter #money

Song falls silent, music is dumb, But the air burns with their fragrance, And white winter, on its knees, Observes everything with reverent attention. ↗

— Anna Akhmatova

#music

Oh, I can see that,” Catelyn said. “Lord Tully is fond of song, I hear. No doubt you’ve been to Riverrun.” “A hundred times,” Marillion the singer said airily. “They keep a chamber for me, and the young lord is like a brother.” Catelyn smiled, wondering what Edmure would think of that. Another singer had once bedded a girl her brother fancied; he had hated the breed ever since. “And Winterfell?” she asked him. “Have you traveled north?” “Why would I?” Marillion asked. “It’s all blizzards and bearskins up there, and the Starks know no music but the howling of wolves.” Distantly, she was aware of the door banging open at the far end of the room. ↗

— George R.R. Martin

#winterfell #music

March came in that winter like the meekest and mildest of lambs, bringing days that were crisp and golden and tingling, each followed by a frosty pink twilight which gradually lost itself in an elfland of moonshine. ↗

— L.M. Montgomery

#winter #l-m-montgomery

She threw one leg over his and straddled his lap, then reached under herself and found him again. He tore his mouth from hers. “Wait.” “No.” She looked him frankly in the eyes. “I don’t care if you spill at once. I need you inside me now.” His beautiful eyes widened and then narrowed. “You’ll not always hold the reins, my lady.” She smiled sweetly. “Naturally not, but I do now. ↗

— Elizabeth Hoyt

#isabel #thief-of-shadows #winter #beauty

Love for the beauty of the soul. I shall love you always. When the flower of life has gone, ever I shall find you. When all is lost and winter comes, I shall be your spring time. And memory fades and wilts then, I shall always find you.... I shall always find you.... ↗

— Laurel A. Rockefeller

#elendir #find #flower #grief #hope

Everybody was dying, or already dead, or leaving other people, and the year was dying into winter, and the only thing to do was make some noise. ↗

— Marina Endicott

#winter #death

L.A. kills people.' Jacaranda said. 'You're lucky you're leaving. You'll be able to write.' She looked paler, going through another depression, smoking in bed in her lilac room. The walls were the color of her veins. She was getting too thin, even for the modeling. . .Jacaranda died last winter when the flowering trees were bare. You couldn't even tell which ones once cried the purple blossoms she named herself after. ↗

— Francesca Lia Block

#friendship #winter #death