Winter Solitude Quotes

When awful darkness and silence reign Over the great Gromboolian plain, Through the long, long wintry nights.

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

Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.

On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence.

Maine is a joy in the summer. But the soul of Maine is more apparent in the winter.

Out alone in the winter rain, / Intent on giving and taking pain.

Birds are flyin' south for winter. Here's the Weird-Bird headin' north, Wings a-flappin', beak a-chatterin', Cold head bobbin' back 'n' forth. He says, "It's not that I like ice Or freezin' winds and snowy ground. It's just sometimes it's kind of nice To be the only bird in town.

I watch the springs, the summers, the autumns; And when comes the winter snow monotonous, I shut all the doors and shutters To build in the night my fairy palace.

How well I know what I mean to do When the long dark Autumn evenings come, And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue? With the music of all thy voices, dumb In life’s November too! I shall be found by the fire, suppose, O’er a great wise book as beseemeth age, While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows, And I turn the page, and I turn the page, Not verse now, only prose!

Do not think I do not realise what I am doing. I am making a composition using the following elements: the winter beach; the winter moon; the ocean; the women; the pine trees; the riders; the driftwood; the shells; the shapes of darkness and the shapes of water; and the refuse. These are all inimical to my loneliness because of their indifference to it. Out of these pieces of inimical indifference, I intend to represent the desolate smile of winter which, as you must have gathered, is the smile I wear.

Even in winter an isolated patch of snow has a special quality.

There is a wilder solitude in winter When every sense is pricked alive and keen.

In winter we lead a more inward life. Our hearts are warm and cheery, like cottages under drifts.

The frozen ocean... of Boston life.

February dawn -- frost on the path Where I paced all winter.

Where has thou been all the dumb winter days When neither sunlight was nor smile of flowers, Neither life, nor love, nor frolic, Only expanse melancholic, With never a note of thy exhilarating lays?

The leaves hop, scraping on the ground. It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice. It is in this solitude, a syllable, Out of these gawky flitterings, Intones its single emptiness, The savagest hollow of winter-sound.