Cold Weather Quotes

“In your hands winter
is a book with cloud pages
that snow pearls of love.”
― Aberjhani, Journey through the Power of the Rainbow: Quotations from a Life Made Out of Poetry

“The lonely, wistful revisionism of memories is as gratingly repetitive as snow and ice in Canada. I avoid them both at all costs - memories and Canada.”
― Brian D'Ambrosio

“We would drive to Canada, where it would probably be legal for us to get married- it was Canada where they let people do whatever they wanted because it was too cold to bother stopping them.”
― W. Bruce Cameron, Emory's Gift

“. . .and every native has a story of winter – stories that usually begin, You call this a storm? And grow in the telling like battle tales shared by graying war veterans. It’s a peculiar character flaw to those of us from cold climates that we feel superior to those who have the sense to live elsewhere.”
― Richard Paul Evans, A Perfect Day

“It is in the coldest months that hugs linger snug, and they warm the soul the most.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year

“Maybe nature is like you and me. It works like all of us. If the weather changes all the time,then it must be on duty. On this cold day winter has started it's shift therefore let us leave it to do it's job.”
― Paballo Seipei

“...the cold got into your bones, and no matter how many logs you threw on the fire, you never felt truly warm.”
― Neil Ansell, Deep Country: Five Years in the Welsh Hills

“Life doesn't stop due to weather. It doesn't matter if it's hot or cold, if you have work then you have to do it.”
― Paballo Seipei

“A Blackberry Winter by Stewart Stafford

Pond ice beneath the hawthorn tree,
Reeds grasping from the frigid sculpture,
Freezing fog clinging to land and foliage,
Nature hindered but still in amelioration.

Horses in crunching frosted footsteps march,
To break the water trough's thick glaze,
And drink thirstily in raw, jagged gulps,
Until the thaw smoothes itself upon milder days.

A swan slips and skates on the icicled river,
Hoarfrost-encrusted rocks a guard of honour,
The Anatidae ascension, maladroit but effective,
Sure to pluck better days from its plumed reign.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Coffee is not about having something to drink in cool weather, it's about having something to drink when you are not sleeping”
― Bobby Darnell

“Long past the first official day of spring on the calendar, old man winter slowly loosened his icy grip on the Lanark County farmlands. We waited and watched for the tell-tale signs, hoping that the mercury in the old thermometer would being to move in the right direction. Even as the sap began to drip slowly from our beloved maple trees, the bitter winds blew relentlessly from the north.”
― Arlene Stafford-Wilson, Lanark County Calling: All Roads Lead Home

“Jeg haver ellers merket dette, at ingen taaler mindre Kulde end Nordmænd.”
― Ludvig Holberg, Epistler

“Bundled up in my gloves, woolen thirteen-button bell-bottomed uniform pants, navy blue shirt and pea coat, with the flaps up, I negotiated the slippery steep incline of High Street. I knew that I was in Maine, known for adverse weather, but this was unreal. It was all I could do to hang onto this precious cargo with my cold fingers in my wet gloves, and put one foot in front of the other. Little by little, I made progress against the elements but, the longer it took to walk the distance, the more I looked like a snowman. Now the white stuff was getting heavier, and started to pile up. It stuck to my uniform, turning the dark blue to white. By the time I got as far as Congress Street, my feet and fingers were totally numb again, and my ears frozen. The box was getting heavier by the moment and I couldn’t even cover my ears with my hands. Finally I just put the box down into the snow, crouched down against a building, and pulled my pea coat over my head. Breathing into it, I managed to generate a little heat. I pressed the flaps of the coat against my ears until I could feel them again. Aside from my frozen feet, I warmed up enough this way to be able to continue. Picking up the box, I got up and once again faced the harsh elements. There was little sign of life, and with this cold wind, I could easily have gotten frostbite. Most people who lived in Maine had better sense than to be out under these arctic conditions. The plows had not cleared the streets yet, and behind me I could see a lone car spinning its wheels, trying in vain to make the steep grade. Once again I had to put down the box. I took off my gloves and tried to warm my hands by blowing onto them, as I did a little dance stomping my feet, but nothing helped anymore; my hands and feet were numb. When I picked the box up again, the bottom was caked with snow, making matters even worse! With only a short distance left I thought about Ann and the aroma from baking brownies, so I continued trudging on.
I could now see the statue of Longfellow, slouched in his massive chair. “Hi, Henry. What do you think of this glorious weather?” Not getting an answer, was answer enough. I was convinced that his bronze butt was frozen to the chair, but in spite of the weather, he still looked comfortable!”
― Captain Hank Bracker, "Salty & Saucy Maine"

“Besides, nothing mattered to her any longer. If she had anything left it was her horror of cold — and the uncle had coal through his contacts. But she found the atmosphere of Berlin hard to bear. She dreamed of escape, of going to live under some more clement sky, far, very far away from it all, closer to nature.”
― Romain Gary, The Roots of Heaven

“why do people live in outlandish climates in the temperate zones, as they are miscalled? Because people are naturally idiots, naturally sluggards, naturally cowards. Until I was about ten years old I never realized that there were “warm” countries, places where you didn’t have to sweat for a living, nor shiver and pretend that it was tonic and exhilarating. Wherever there is cold there are people who work themselves to the bone and when they produce young they preach the gospel of work – which is nothing, at bottom, but the doctrine of inertia.”
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Capricorn

“Heat is a blunt instrument, but warmth is relative. We feel warmer for knowing that it’s freezing outside.”
― Katherine May

“The snowfall outside was a white wall of noiseless fury, the symmetry of the stars eclipsed by a cataract of quiet.”
― Ausma Zehanat Khan, The Language of Secrets

“The frost had brightened the ground and hardened the stars. Beyond the dry-stone walls, the sheep were in huddles in the fields. A pair of hunting horses ran along the side of the fence, their breath steaming like dragons'.”
― Jeanette Winterson, Christmas Days: 12 Stories and 12 Feasts for 12 Days

“Roughly halfway across the frozen river, the column of prisoners was halted by a massive snowdrift blocking their path. It proved too dense to break through in a single charge.
“Why are you standing there staring? Move! Help the men in front!” a guard barked.
The prisoners crowded forward and began clearing the obstacle together, clawing and kicking at the packed snow with desperate urgency.
In their haste, they failed to consider that the ice had not yet thickened sufficiently after the previous night’s freeze. Under the concentrated weight of so many bodies in one place, the thin crust of ice suddenly gave way. The entire vanguard plunged into the freezing water.
Those following behind recoiled in terror and collided with the prisoners at the rear. As they fell, the ice shattered beneath them as well, and they too were swallowed by the treacherous water. The more fortunate inmates, farther from the gaping hole in the ice, scattered in panic. Frightened guards fired warning shots into the air, shouting frantically to restore order.
An instant later, the icy slurry struck Peter’s body like a thousand knives. Screams, splashing water, cracking ice, and frantic bodies thrashing in the racing current merged into a single nightmare of chaos.
Several of the men who had fallen into the river could not swim. One was quickly seized by the current and dragged beneath the ice. Others, stricken by panic, clutched at whoever was near them. Peter found himself locked in the iron grip of a terrified Turkmen prisoner who had never in his life seen a body of water large enough to swim in. Together, they began to sink beneath the ice.
— Volodymyr Shablia, Stone. Book Three


Context note:
Set in 1941 during the chaotic early months of World War II, this scene depicts the forced transfer of prisoners within the Soviet Gulag system. As Nazi Germany invaded the USSR, thousands of inmates were marched or transported across vast distances under brutal conditions. Many perished not in battle, but during these desperate evacuations—victims of cold, exhaustion, panic, and the indifference of a repressive state.”
― Володимир Шабля, Камінь. Біографічний роман. Книга третя. Несправджені сподівання.: Все буде Голодомор.