Friends are lights in winter; the older the friend, the brighter the light.
Music brings a warm glow to my vision, thawing mind and muscle from their endless wintering.
In essence the Renaissance was simply the green end of one of civilization's hardest winters.
Now the wintertime is coming The windows are filled with frost I went to tell everybody But I could not get across Well, I wanna be your lover, baby I don't wanna be your boss Don't say I never warned you When your train gets lost.
Do your heart and head keep pace? When does hoary Love expire, When do frosts put out the fire? Can its embers burn below All that chill December snow?
The snow may be falling in the winter of my discontent, but at least I've got sarcastic company.
I think he just gets like this sometimes. Like he needs to pull away. I think of it like winter. During winter, it isn't that the sun is gone (or cheating on you with another planet). You can still see it in the sky. It's just farther away.
Cheerfulness ought to be the viaticum vitae of their life to the old; age without cheerfulness is a Lapland winter without a sun.
