Lewis Black Quotes

When you play in New England you have cold weather, hot weather, windy weather, or snow.

here in the summer desert, winter found my blood

There is that unpredictability of the seasons that I enjoy. I like the threat of a tornado. I like the threat of four feet of snow.

No matter what time of year I come here, people always say the same thing: Its not usually like this.

We panic if there's two centimeters of snow in London.

I grew up in Chicago, and there was always snow. In Los Angeles there never was, so we would always import snow!

If you don't like Scottish weather, wait 30 minutes, and it is likely to change.

I get homesick for snow and for winter and for seasons and, really, for weather patterns. But L.A. has some of the best weather, so who can complain when it's 80 degrees and sunny?

I am definitely a summer person. Don't get me wrong: I love winter when it's beautiful and sunny - I don't really care about cold - I just hate the grey.

You know it's a real winter when Bostonians are telling you that they've never experienced anything like it.

My favorite weather pattern happens to be when it rains mud. Dust comes through. Rain on top of it. It rains mud.

Seasons just don't go easy all the way through.

I like snow, but I don't want to live in Siberia.

It's never sunny in Buffalo.

Our weather patterns are mercurial. What you must remember about Great Britain is we have a uniquely temperate climate not shared by any other country in Europe. We can grow plants from every country in the world. The result is 90% of the plants in our gardens are from other parts of the world.

There is a sumptuous variety about the New England weather... In the spring I have counted one hundred and twenty-six different kinds of weather inside of four and twenty hours.

That's what happens when it snows in Texas lady. It. Freaking. Melts.

She heard pa shouting,"Jiminy crickets!It's raining fish-hooks and hammer handles!

God, I've frozen my ass off painting snow scenes!

Without further warning, the sky opens up and cries.

Where's the snow That fell the year that's fled--where's the snow?

With the coldest winter ever recorded, with snow setting record levels up and down the coast, the Nobel committee should take the Nobel Prize back from Al Gore.

Nature confounds her summer distinctions at this season. The heavens seem to be nearer the earth. The elements are less reserved and distinct. Water turns to ice, rain to snow. The day is but a Scandinavian night. The winter is an arctic summer.