A winter without snow seems depressing, lacking.
Winter was nothing but a season of snow; spring, allergies; and summer. . . It was the worst. That was swimsuit season.
What, are you doing? Aside from getting your sandwich cold. " "I’m making a snow angel. Don’t you know what that is?" "Yes, I know. But why? You must be freezing. " "Not so much, actually. My face is a little, I guess.
The snow and the storm destroy the flower; but its seed they cannot kill.
But why should you be interested in me?" Good question. I can’t explain it myself right this moment. But maybe – just maybe – if we start getting together and talking, after a while something like Francis Lai’s soundtrack music will start playing in the background, and a whole slew of concrete reasons why I’m interested in you will line up out of nowhere. With luck, it might even snow for us.
All the best things and treasures of this world are not to be produced by each generation for itself; but we are all intended, not to carve our work in snow that will melt, but each and all of us to be continually rolling a great white gathering snow-ball, higher and higher, larger and larger, along the Alps of human power.
The snows and the roses of yesterday are vanished; And what is love but a rose that fades?