Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Snowmelt. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Snowmelt Quotes And Sayings by 93 Authors including A.d. Posey,Roger Ebert,Eloisa James,Anne Michaels,Annie Dillard for you to enjoy and share.
A great snow is the calm death of struggle and the transformative birth of life.
The very fact of snow is such an amazement.
There was just a thin fall of powdery snow in the air. It came onto their hats, not seeming to fall as much as to suddenly appear with its chill greeting on lips and noses.
The winter street is a salt cave. The snow has stopped falling and it's very cold. The cold is spectacular, penetrating. The street has been silenced, a theatre of whiteness, drifts like frozen waves. Crystals glisten under the streetlights.
In a dry wind like this, snow and ice can pass directly into the air as a gas without having first melted to water. This process is called sublimation; tonight the snow in the yard and the ice in the creek sublime.
I love snow, snow, and all the forms of radiant frost.
The snow wears moonlight like perfume.
It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.
...and the thick, sugary covering of the snow...
Snowmageddon.
Dirty glacial clouds hammered the city's anvil. On the District of Columbia's northwestern edge, gusts of snow rolled across the Park Road Bridge like volcanic ash.
Layer upon layer of soft-packed snowflakes settled in near silence, forming a quilt of feathery ice crystals.
Flurries early, pristine and pearly. Winter's come calling! Can we endure so premature a falling? Some may find this trend distressing- others bend to say a blessing over sage and onion dressing.
They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it?
Life is like a snowflake - transient, translucent, adventurous, ephemeral, and beautiful.
It snowed right before Jack stopped talking to Hazel, fluffy white flakes big enough to show their crystal architecture, like perfect geometric poems.
When men were all asleep the snow came flying, In large white flakes falling on the city brown, Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying, Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town.
Winter is coming.
she'd forgotten snow could be quite so beautiful. Snow, in her experience, was something that needed to be removed. It was a chore that fell from the sky. But
The tints of autumn ... a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.
Snow is all right while it is snowing; it is like inebriation because it is very pleasing when it is coming, but very unpleasing when it is going.
The snow had done what even wizards and the Watch couldn't do, which was clean up Ankh-Morpork. It hadn't had time to get dirty. In the morning it'd probably look as though the city had been covered in coffee meringue, but for now it mounded the bushes and trees in pure white.
Spring, the snow must go; fall, the leaves can't stay.
She had never seen snow before, except in TV shows and movies. It had looked to her like the stars were flaking out of the sky. It had looked like thousands of fireflies in the moonlight; like breathlessness, like time stopping, like the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.
Tiny waterfalls trickle down over the rocks where they freeze and the ice glitters in the sunlight reflected off rock and snow. It is said that in the old times, when the early loggers came, the first tree cut down could not fall because the forest was so dense there was no place for it to land.
Its been a long time coming but now the snow is gone
How wonderful is Cold Mountain Climbers are all afraid The moon shines on clear water twinkle twinkle Wind rustles the tall grass Plum trees flower in the snow Bare twisted trees have clouds for foliage A touch of rain brings it all alive Unless you see clearly do not approach
Winter changes into stone the water of heaven and the heart of man.
I think snow is so evocative and has such a powerful atmosphere.
A small and sinister snow seems to be coming down relentlessly at present. The radio says it is eventually going to be sleet and rain, but I don't think so; I think it is just going to go on and on, coming down, until the whole world ... etc. It has that look.
First snow: it came this year late in November.
Christmas; magnificent snowflakes snowing in your hope.
It was slushy snow," I clarified.
"Very slushy," Adrian confirmed.
The first snow always startles. It covers the tricycle in the driveway, turning its frame into an abstact sculpture that says: See how quickly yesterday turns into today.
Snow harder! Snow more!
Snow blizzards galore!
I can't get enough
Of the fluffy white stuff!
Snow! Snow! Snow!
Snow a ton! Snow a heap!
Snow ten feet deep!
I wouldn't cry
If it snowed til July.
Snow! Snow! Snow!
The grim frost is at hand, when apples will fall thick, almost thunderous, on the hardened earth.
A snowflake is probably quite unconscious of forming a crystal, but what it does may be worth study even if we are willing to leave its inner mental processes alone.
The dandelion's pallid tube
Astonishes the grass,
And winter instantly becomes
An infinite alas.
Beyond the window, snow fell like frozen drops of poison.
Not until I came to Canada did I realize that snow was a four-letter word.
Winter walks up and down the town swinging his censer, but no smoke or sweetness comes from it, only the sour, metallic frankness of salt and snow.
winter plumb
not plumb
As tiny silver flakes drifted down to settle on our bodies
Both the living and the dead
I thought perhaps the moon had hidden her face from us, as full of sorrow as we were. But she couldn't stop her tears from spilling out in the form of silent snow.
With melted snow I boil fragrant tea.
But when a snowflake, brave and meek,Lights on a rosy maiden's cheek,It starts-"How warm and soft the day!""'T is summer!" and it melts away.
I'm that neighborhood blizzard flooding these streets with snow.
The snow again. White, white net of beauty, net of dream, trapping the earth, trapping the helpless heart of life ...
It didn't look like the kind of snow that whispers down gently in the pit of the night and in the morning turns the landscape into a glittering wonderland of uncommon and ethereal beauty. It looked like the kind of snow that intends to make the world as bloody cold as possible.
How I love the first snow ... unbroken and white, before it's ruined by footprints.
Snowflakes fall from high.
Flurries lift and twirl below.
The world has turned white.
in winter's watered-down light - just
The greatest blizzards start with the finest snow.
The sky drops silver threads of sleet.
Before the bud swells, before the grass springs, before the plough is started, comes the sugar harvest. It is sequel of the bitter frost; a sap run is the sweet goodbye of winter.
A plague of snow, fluffy and dry before it hardens and grips the trees, the walls, and the cars parked haphazardly everywhere. When I walk to the little market a few blocks away, it feels like a test of endurance.
Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed
The speculating rooks at their nests cawed
And saw from elm tops, delicate as flower of grass,
What we below could not see, Winter pass.
December's wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer's memory ...
It has started to snow. We all ran out when it began, and played at catching flakes as we used to when we were children. But it was cold, and our boots and gloves and cloaks were soon wet - you feel these things more when you are grown-up.
Whether you boyle snow or pound it, you can have but water of it.
See, lady, that's what happens to snow in Texas. It- freaking- melts.
Snowflakes make when they land on water, like the wail of a coyote; the sound reaches a climax and then fades away, all in about one
Now winter downs the dying of the year,
And night is all a settlement of snow;
From the soft street the rooms of houses show
A gathered light, a shapen atmosphere,
Like frozen-over lakes whose ice is thin
And still allows some stirring down within.
The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white.
You talk like winter rain.
But frost, like the crystallized dreams of autumn, began to coat the clearing with its sugar glaze.
Snow was the most beautiful thing Amitola had ever seen. It fell so gracefully and drizzled her skin like a cold whisper.
In spring, the snow must go; in fall, the leaves can't stay.
The last dead leaves of fall crackled underfoot, winter-crisp.
The final condensation.
A weird sequence of weather events had left a thin skin of ice around every tree and branch and twig. Each time the wind blew, a splintery groan issued from all directions at once.
Memories
fall
like
snowflakes
upon
my dreams.
The snowflakes
toss and tumble,
each different
and yet
the same.
The snow itself is lonely or, if you prefer, self-sufficient. There is no other time when the whole world seems composed of one thing and one thing only.
In the morning when I wake I think of things I won't object then I let my mind create the snow ball effect.
It is freezing fit to split a stone.
The freezing rain sifts down, handfuls of shining rice thrown by some unseen celebrant. Wherever it hits, it crystallizes into a granulated coating of ice.
I love it when the snowflakes are flying like butterflies.
To appreciate the beauty of a snow flake, it is necessary to stand out in the cold.
That's what happens when it snows in Texas lady. It. Freaking. Melts.
Snow is not a wolf in sheep's clothing - it is a tiger in lamb's clothing.
The snow has quietness in it; no songs,
no smells, no shouts or traffic.
When I speak
my own voice shocks me.
branches clawing at my flesh. Snow flooded my
When glaciers break up due to rising world temperatures, its called calving. I'm calving
A snowdrift is a beautiful thing-if it doesn't lie across the path you have to shovel or block the road that leads to your destination.
The first snow is like the first love. Do you remember your first snow?
Winter changes the water of heaven and the heart of man into a stone.
Today on the way home, it snows. Big, soft caressing flakes fall onto our skin like cold moths; the air fills with feathers.
Each snowflake was a sigh heard by an aggrieved woman somewhere in the world. All the sighs drifted up the sky, gathered into clouds, then broke into tiny pieces that fell silently on the people below. As a reminder of how women suffer.
Light is snow sifted / To an abstraction.
A solution to stop gang banging: SNOW!!
The detritus of animal and plant life that had died miles above. It fell steadily through each zone of the ocean, down and down, shredding into flakes, leached of pigment until it became bone white. A snow of death.
The Great Snow! How cheerful it is to hear of!
Snow always inspires such awe in me. Just consider one tiny snowflake alone, so delicate, so fragile, so ethereal. And yet, let a billion of them come together through the majestic force of nature, they can screw up a whole city.
Hey, Noah?"
"Yes?" he says sweetly.
"Why do you call me Snowflake?"
He steps closer and runs one finger along my cheek, making my skin tingle in its wake. "Because you're just like a snowflake. Beautiful and unique, and with one touch you'll be wet.
Hollow, melting the final bits of ice from the bare trees. Steam rose from the soil like a phantom, carrying with it a whisper of autumn smoke that had been lying dormant in the frosty underground.
Every time I jog through the world, I am awed by what I find. On a winter morning, when it seems too cold and slippery for safe jogging or bicycling, I can still go out and experience the glory of sunlight turning icy branches into strings of sparkling diamonds.
But how could anyone who's ever seen a summer - big explosion of green and skies lit up electric with splashy sunsets, a riot of flowers and wind that smells like honey - pick the snow?
Stepping forth to replenish it, for now the snow came in flying sweeps
If there comes a little thaw, Still the air is chill and raw, Here and there a patch of snow, Dirtier than the ground below, Dribbles down a marshy flood; Ankle-deep you stick in mud In the meadows while you sing, This is Spring.
Snow is bruised lilac in half light: such pure solace.
Snow endures but for a season, and joy comes with the morning.