Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave.
With spots quadrangular of diamond form, Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, And spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
It is a hard winter when one wolf eats another.
The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.
The winter of our discontent.
Good fortune attend each merry man's friend That doth but the best that he may, Forgetting old wrongs with carols and songs To drive the cold winter away.
Gloriously drunk, obey the important call.
Shall we not have reason to conclude, that other planets besides our own are inhabited by living creatures? All the planets resemble our earth; like it enjoy the light and genial warmth of the sun, have the alternation of night and day, and the succession of summer and winter: but what end would all these phenomena answer unless the planets were inhabited? Considering them as so many peopled worlds, what a sublime idea we conceive of the grandeur of God, and the extent of his empire! How impossible to fathom his bounty, or penetrate the limits of his power! His glory, reflected from so many worlds, tills us with amaze, and calls forth every sentiment of awe, veneration and gratitude. Supposing that his praise is celebrated in all the worlds which roll above and round us, let us not be surpassed in our adoration, but in holy emulation mingle our hymns with those of the inhabitants of these numerous worlds, and celebrate the Lord God of the universe with eternal thanksgiving!
While fancy, like the finger of a clock, Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.
What prompts thee, O man, to abandon thy habitations in the city, to leave thy parents and friends, and to seek rural spots in the mountains and valleys, if it be not the natural beauty of the world, which, if thou reflectest, thou dost enjoy solely by means of the sense of sight? And if the poet wishes to be called a painter in this connection also, why didst thou not take the descriptions of places made by the poet and remain at home without exposing thyself to the heat of the sun? Oh! would not this have been more profitable and less fatiguing to thee, since this can be done in the cool without motion and danger of illness? But the soul could not enjoy the benefit of the eyes, the windows of its dwelling, and it could not note the character of joyous {76} places; it could not see the shady valleys watered by the sportiveness of the winding rivers; it could not see the various flowers, which with their colours make a harmony for the eye, and all the other objects which the eye can apprehend. But if the painter in the cold and rigorous season of winter can evoke for thee the landscapes, variegated and otherwise, in which thou didst experience thy happiness; if near some fountain thou canst see thyself, a lover with thy beloved, in the flowery fields, under the soft shadow of the budding boughs, wilt thou not experience a greater pleasure than in hearing the same effect described by the poet?
Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves only in the legal sense. Technology was the slave’s real emancipator. Technology freed the slave by transferring his toil onto the tireless backs of non-human slaves driven by water, steam, petroleum and electricity. But the Black man…has never owned, and never had a chance to own, the machine that replaced and indeed, surpassed his power to toil a thousandfold. When he lost his servitude he lost his livelihood. As Frederick Douglas said, “Emancipation made the slaves free to hunger; free to the winter and rains of heaven…free without roofs to cover them or bread to eat or land to cultivate.” For all his good intentions, Lincoln didn’t free the slaves. He fired them.… People who teach economics are mostly white, but the people who understand economics are mostly Black.… Slavery taught us WHO had the leisure, WHO had freedom, WHO had wealth. Not the slave, but the slave owner. Not the sharecropper, but the land-owner. Not the employee, but the capital owner. [Statement on 1969 founding of Soul City, North Carolina on the 160th Anniversary of Abraham Lincoln’s birth; former President of the Congress or Racial Equality (CORE).]
Adversity, like winter weather, is of use to kill those vermin which the summer of prosperity is apt to produce and nourish.--_Arrowsmith._
O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength,--a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one.
No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.
Rien ne peut arreter sa vigilante audace. / L'ete n'a point de feux, l'hiver n'a point de glace=--Nothing can check his watchful daring. For him the summer has no heat, the winter no ice.
~Winter.~--After summer ever more succeeds the barren winter with his nipping cold.--_Shakespeare._
Man's life is like unto a winter's day,-- Some break their fast and so depart away; Others stay dinner, then depart full fed; The longest age but sups and goes to bed. O reader, then behold and see! As we are now, so must you be.
~Reform.~--We are reformers in spring and summer; in autumn and winter we stand by the old--reformers in the morning, conservatives at night. Reform is affirmative, conservatism is negative; conservatism goes for comfort, reform for truth.--_Emerson._
Life is a stream upon which drift flowers in spring and blocks of ice in winter.
Awakener, come! Fling wide the gate of an eternal year, The April of that glad new heavens and earth Which shall grow out of these, as spring-tide grows Slow out of winter's breast. Let Thy wide hand Gather us all — with none left out (O God! Leave Thou out none!) from the east and from the west. Loose Thou our burdens: heal our sicknesses; Give us one heart, one tongue, one faith, one love. In Thy great Oneness made complete and strong — To do Thy work throughout the happy world — Thy world, All-merciful, Thy perfect world.
They must hunger in winter that will not work in summer.
Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor; And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.
Some to the fascination of a name Surrender judgment hoodwink'd.
As dreadful as the Manichean god, Adored through fear, strong only to destroy.
In the winter, warmth stands for all virtue.
Sweet daughter of a rough and stormy sire, hoar Winter's blooming child, delightful Spring.--_Mrs. Barbauld._
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring The Winter Garment of Repentance fling The Bird of Time has but a little way To fly \x97 and Lo! The Bird is on the Wing.
Riches endless is as poor as winter, to him that ever fears he shall be poor.--_Shakespeare._
He is the freeman whom the truth makes free.
A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a.
It seems the part of wisdom.
The period of faith must alternate with the period of denial; the vernal growth, the summer luxuriance of all opinions, spiritual representations and creations must be followed by, and again follow, the autumnal decay, the winter dissolution.
I burn to set the imprison'd wranglers free, And give them voice and utterance once again. Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
And Katerfelto, with his hair on end At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. 'T is pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world,--to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd.
unfathomable to the most experienced prophets in Maycomb County, autumn turned to winter that year. We had two weeks of the coldest weather since 1885, Atticus said. Mr. Avery said it was written on the Rosetta Stone that when children disobeyed their parents, smoked cigarettes and made war on each other, the seasons would change: Jem and I were burdened with the guilt of contributing to the aberrations of nature, thereby causing unhappiness to our neighbors and discomfort to ourselves.
With filial confidence inspired, Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye, And smiling say, My Father made them all!
In the early days of the world, the world was too full of wonders to require any other miracles. The whole world was a miracle and a revelation, there was no need for any special disclosure. At that time the heavens, the waters, the sun and moon, the stars of heaven, the showers and dew, the winds of God, fire and heat, winter and summer, ice and snow, nights and days, lightnings and clouds, the earth, the mountains and hills, the green things upon the earth, the wells, and seas and floods--all blessed the Lord, praised Him and magnified Him for ever. Can we imagine a more powerful revelation? Is it for us to say that for the children of men to join in praising and magnifying Him who revealed Himself in His own way in all the magnificence, the wisdom and order of nature, is mere paganism, polytheism, pantheism, and abominable idolatry? I have heard many blasphemies, I have heard none greater than this.
Now is now, and Yule's in winter.
Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing, / That, in the merry months of spring, / Delighted me to hear thee sing, / What comes o' thee? / Where wilt thou cower thy chittering wing, an' close thy e'e?
Some must be great. Great offices will have Great talents. And God gives to every man The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, That lifts him into life, and lets him fall Just in the niche he was ordain'd to fill.
Here the heart May give a useful lesson to the head, And Learning wiser grow without his books.
A little rule, a little sway, A sunbeam in a winter's day, Is all the proud and mighty have Between the cradle and the grave.
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress; A brother to relieve,--how exquisite the bliss!
They say we are Almost as like as eggs.
"ALL THE DAYS"--in winter days, when joys are fled; in sunless days, when the clouds return again and again after rain; in days of sickness and pain; in days of temptation and perplexity, as much as in days when the heart is as full of joy as the woodlands in spring are full of song. That day never comes when the Lord Jesus is not at the side of His saints. Lover and friend may stand afar, but He walks with them through the fires; He fords with them the rivers; He stands by them when face to face with the lion. We can never be alone. We must always add His resources to our own when making our calculations.--_F. B. Meyer._
Silence is the consummate eloquence of sorrow.
For his bounty, There was no winter in 't; an autumn 't was That grew the more by reaping.
Fate is character.
Poor and content is rich and rich enough; / But riches fineless is as poor as winter / To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
But winter lingering chills the lap of May.
What 's gone and what 's past help Should be past grief.
But war 's a game which were their subjects wise Kings would not play at.
But these thoughts broke apart in his head and were replaced by strange fragments: This is my soul and the world unwinding, this is my heart in the still winter air. Finally whispering the same two words over and over: “Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking.
To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
In winter, when the dismal rain Comes down in slanting lines, And Wind, that grand old harper, smote His thunder-harp of pines.
The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.
There is a better thing than the great man who is always speaking, and that is the great man who only speaks when he has a great word to say.
When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks; / When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.
In indolent vacuity of thought.
Poetry is the language of feeling.
Which not even critics criticise.
We are reformers in spring and summer; in autumn and winter we stand by the old; reformers in the morning, conservers at night.
Antiphanes said merrily, that in a certain city the cold was so intense that words were congealed as soon as spoken, but that after some time they thawed and became audible; so that the words spoken in winter were articulated next summer.
O Winter, ruler of the inverted year!
In long-drawn systole and long-drawn diastole must the period of faith alternate with the period of denial; must the vernal growth, the summer luxuriance of all opinions, spiritual representations and creations, be followed by and again follow the autumnal decay, the winter dissolution.
Builders and warriors, strengthen the steps. Reader, if you have not grasped — read again, after a while. The predestined is not accidental, The leaves fall in their time. And winter is but the harbinger of spring. All is revealed; all is attainable.
A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles.
Now there grows among all the rooms, replacing the night’s old smoke, alcohol and sweat, the fragile, musaceous odor of Breakfast: flowery, permeating, surprising, more than the color of winter sunlight, taking over not so much through any brute pungency or volume as by the high intricacy to the weaving of its molecules, sharing the conjuror’s secret by which—though it is not often Death is told so clearly to fuck off—the living genetic chains prove even labyrinthine enough to preserve some human face down ten or twenty generations . . . so the same assertion-through-structure allows this war morning’s banana fragrance to meander, repossess, prevail. Is there any reason not to open every window, and let the kind scent blanket all Chelsea?
Blow, blow, thou winter wind, / Thou art not so unkind / As man's ingratitude.
Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.
I have not yet lost a feeling of wonder, and of delight, that this delicate motion should reside in all the things around us, revealing itself only to him who looks for it. I remember, in the winter of our first experiments, just seven years ago, looking on snow with new eyes. There the snow lay around my doorstep — great heaps of protons quietly precessing in the earth's magnetic field. To see the world for a moment as something rich and strange is the private reward of many a discovery.
If I would know the love of my friend, I must see what it can do in the winter. So with the divine love. It is very easy for me to worship in the summer sunshine, when the melodies of life are in the air and the fruits of life are on the tree. But let the song of the bird cease, and the fruit of the tree fall; and will my heart still go on to sing? Will I stand in God's house by night? Will I love Him in His own night? Will I watch with Him even one hour in His Gethsemane? Will I help to bear His cross up the Via Dolorosa? My love has come to Him in His humiliation. My faith has found Him in His lowliness. My heart has recognized His majesty through His mean disguise, and I know at last that I desire not the gift, but the Giver. When I can stand in His house by night, I have accepted Him for Himself alone.--_George Matheson._
But winter lingering chills the lap of May.
What is it but a map of busy life, Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?
Art is noble, but the sanctuary of the human soul is nobler still.
Menschlich ist es bloss zu strafen, / Aber gottlich zu verzeihn=--To punish is merely human, but to forgive is divine.
When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that.
For his bounty, / There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas, / That grew the more by reaping.
The force that makes the winter grow Its feathered hexagons of snow, and drives the bee to match at home Their calculated honeycomb, Is abacus and rose combined. An icy sweetness fills my mind, A sense that under thing and wing Lies, taut yet living, coiled, the spring.
Silently as a dream the fabric rose, No sound of hammer or of saw was there.
The kiss, snatch'd hasty from the sidelong maid.
The Frenchman's darling.
You just call out my name And you know wherever I am I'll come runnin' to see you again Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall, All you have to do is call And I'll be there You've got a friend.
Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much; Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. Books are not seldom talismans and spells.
See, Winter comes to rule the varied year.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind! Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude.
If thou wouldst reap in love, / First sow in holy fear; / So life a winter's morn may prove / To a bright endless year.
In the winter season, for seven days of calm, Alcyone broods over her nest on the surface of the waters while the sea-waves are quiet. Through this time Aeolus keeps his winds at home, and ocean is smooth for his descendants’ sake.
Criticism should be written for the public, not the artist.
Rarity imparts a charm; thus early fruits and winter roses are most prized; thus coyness sets off an extravagant mistress, while a door ever open tempts no suitor.
Hello babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. On the outside, babies, you've got a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies-"God damn it, you've got to be kind.
I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way — in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
The perfect weather that had allowed us to get the oats and corn in ahead of time probably also contributed to the dearth of migrating warblers. With no storms to force the birds down, they overflew this area on their northward journey. At least I hope that is the reason. I fear, though, that the cutting down of the tropical rain forests (the winter home for many warblers) to create ranches that will provide cheap beef for fast-food restaurants in the United States may also be partly responsible for the dearth.
I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polish'd manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
Running to join them, he felt overwhelming joy. It was as if he were coming home from a lashing winter storm to the warmth of his living room. The sky seemed brilliantly blue and clear, although he knew it was overcast. If he didn't move his legs faster, his heart would outpace his feet and burst. His heart, his whole body, was overflowing with an emotion that he could only describe as love.
There is no creature so lonely as the dweller in the intellect.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,-- Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Like a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.
A green winter makes a fat churchyard.
My galligaskins, that have long withstood The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts, By time subdued (what will not time subdue!), A horrid chasm disclosed.
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly.
The beggarly last doit.
Age without cheerfulness is a Lapland winter without a sun.
The neck on which diamonds might have worthily sparkled will look less tempting when the biting winter has hung icicles there for gems.
Greatness, in any period and under any circumstances, has always been rare. It is of elemental birth, and is independent alike of its time and its circumstances.
Riches fineless is as poor as winter / To him that ever fears he shall be poor.
Seven hours to law, to soothing slumber seven, Ten to the world allot, and all to heaven. Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year.
The _Veda_ alone of all works I know treats of a genesis of God-consciousness, compared to which the Theogony of Hesiod is like a worn-out creature. We see it grow slowly and gradually with all its contradictions, its sudden terrors, its amazements, and its triumphs. As God reveals His Being in nature in her order, her indestructibility, in the eternal victory of light over darkness, of spring over winter, in the eternally returning course of the sun and the stars, so man has gradually spelt out of nature the Being of God, and after trying a thousand names for God in vain, we find Him in the _Veda_ already saying: 'They call him Indra, Mitra, Varuna; then they call him the Heavenly, the bird with beautiful wings; that which is One they call in various ways.'... The belief in Immortality is only the other side, as it were, of the God-consciousness, and both are originally natural to the Aryan race.
The world's great age begins anew, The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn.
Human judgment is finite, and it ought always to be charitable.
Those golden times And those Arcadian scenes that Maro sings, And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose.
All learned, and all drunk!
Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall not we revenge?
Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last — far off — at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream; but what am I? An infant crying in the night; An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.
It was the kind of winter day that makes you forget that the weather was ever any different, and you feel like it has been winter all the way back to Adam.
There studious let me sit, And hold high converse with the mighty dead.
For, lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.