Alfred Austin Quotes

Nothing is as tedious as the limping days, When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways, And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom, Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom

I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.

I'm a winter girl. I like coming out when things are desolate and everybody's ready to slit their wrists.

Though February lay about her shoulders like a cloak of lead.

Late in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided I was depressed, presumably because I rarely left the house, spent quite a lot of time in bed, read the same book over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to thinking about death.

Illinois is a state of suspended animation and the people live in hibernation from Oct. to whenever it ever gets warmer.

I've never gotten used to winter and never will.

Oddly enough I never used to suffer from depression on cold, gray, cloudy days like this. I feel as if nature is in harmony with me, that it reflected my soul. On the other hand, when the sun appeared, the children would come out to play in the streets, and everyone was happy that it was such a lovely day, and then I would feel terrible, as if that display of exuberance in which i could not participate was somehow unfair.

Beneath the winter's snow lie germs of summer flowers.

Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.

February is a suitable month for dying. Everything around is dead, the trees black and frozen so that the appearance of green shoots two months hence seems preposterous, the ground hard and cold, the snow dirty, the winter hateful, hanging on too long.

Decade after decade, artists came to paint the light of Provincetown, and comparisons were made to the lagoons of Venice and the marshes of Holland, but then the summer ended and most of the painters left, and the long dingy undergarment of the gray New England winter, gray as the spirit of my mood, came down to visit.

There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.

Dull winter will re-appear.

Here in Beacon, I feel like this was the worst year yet. The entire town, like a lot of winter towns, just kind of holed up in the winter.

Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter!

Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone. But grief returns with the revolving year.

All in November's soaking mist We stand and prune the naked tree, While all our love and interest Seem quenched in the blue-nosed misery.

The bloom fell off my branches and joy did cast off its flower

What am I doing here in this endless winter?

I'm laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone, Going home, where the new york city winters aren't bleedin' me.

Winter is the season of alcoholism and despair.