Thomas Campbell Quotes

When the cold comes to New England it arrives in sheets of sleet and ice. In December, the wind wraps itself around bare trees and twists in between husbands and wives asleep in their beds. It shakes the shingles from the roofs and sifts through cracks in the plaster. The only green things left are the holly bushes and the old boxwood hedges in the village, and these are often painted white with snow. Chipmunks and weasels come to nest in basements and barns; owls find their way into attics. At night,the dark is blue and bluer still, as sapphire of night.

And finally Winter, with its bitin', whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.

In the woods where snow is thick, bars of sunlight lay like pale fire.

A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and flagrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway.

Come, ye cold winds, at January's call, On whistling wings, and with white flakes bestrew The earth.

On cold December fragrant chaplets blow, And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.

And I did feel there was an album to be made about winter that can make you feel the way Sinatra and Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline make me feel - warm, nostalgic and comforted.

I love Minnesota. The cold is fine with me, being from New Jersey.

It was never a thing that bothered me, being cold or if there's snow. It never fazed me.

I grew up in Southern California. If it's snowing on a day I'm supposed to train, I'll just stare out the window in all my gear and be like, 'Hmmm, maybe not today.' I hate being cold.

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

I'm not a fan of cold weather.

I like the cold.

It drove me crazy, Scotland. It was cold. It was abuse. It was snowing and everything. I was so cold that one day I faked an injury to go to the locker room.

I don't think I could survive in cold places.

I love driving the sled more than anything.

I'm not a cold-weather guy.

The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground. It was a place of whites and blacks and greys. White towers and white snow and white statues, black shadows and black trees, the dark grey sky above. A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here. Yet she stepped out all the same.

There was a frosty rime upon the trees, which, in the faint light of the clouded moon, hung upon the smaller branches like dead garlands.

The ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.

Mainly I've been back to my books and writings and being nice and quiet and lazy. As I'm writing this, the radio says there's a foot of snow falling on Long Island. I really love snow and wish I could take a long walk in it right now.