Alfred Stieglitz Quotes

I think snow is so evocative and has such a powerful atmosphere.

Look up at the miracle of the falling snow,—the air a dizzy maze of whirling, eddying flakes, noiselessly transforming the world, the exquisite crystals dropping in ditch and gutter, and disguising in the same suit of spotless livery all objects upon which they fall.

Footprints in the snow have been unfailing provokers of sentiment ever since snow was first a white wonder in this drab-coloured world of ours.

I love cold weather.

I have never seen snow and do not know what winter means.

I love snow; I love building snowman. The only thing I don't like is the cold - so if we could have a hot Christmas, that would be amazing.

I don't like cold weather.

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

I think of the cold as a noble force.

I'm not a fan of cold weather.

I like the cold.

It snowed all week. Wheels and footsteps moved soundlessly on the street, as if the business of living continued secretly behind a pale but impenetrable curtain. In the falling quiet there was no sky or earth, only snow lifting in the wind, frosting the window glass, chilling the rooms, deadening and hushing the city. At all hours it was necessary to keep a lamp lighted, and Mrs. Miller lost track of the days: Friday was no different from Saturday and on Sunday she went to the grocery: closed, of course.

In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, Snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.

The cold hoarfrost glistened on the tombstones, and sparkled like rows of gems, among the stone carvings of the old church. The snow lay hard and crisp upon the ground; and spread over the thickly-strewn mounds of earth, so white and smooth a cover, that it seemed as if corpses lay there, hidden only by their winding sheets.

Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white-then melts for ever . . .

I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on white.

In this world, only winter is certain

Snow was falling, so much like stars filling the dak trees that one could easily imagine its reason for being was nothing more the prettiness.

Today on the way home, it snows. Big, soft caressing flakes fall onto our skin like cold moths; the air fills with feathers.

What is the world, O soldiers? It is I, I, this incessant snow, This northern sky.

Is it snowing where you are? All the world that I see from my tower is draped in white and the flakes are coming down as big as pop-corns. It's late afternoon - the sun is just setting (a cold yellow colour) behind some colder violet hills, and I am up in my window seat using the last light to write to you.

That no Flake of [snow] fall on you or them - is a wish that would be a Prayer, were Emily not a Pagan.