Alas, if worth be based on beauty, Snow White has surpassed you, cutie.
Now that our sexual experience is increasingly available to us as a subject for contemplation, we have to extend our language to express our new consciousness until we have as many words for sexuality as the Eskimo has for snow, that pervasive, beautiful, and mortal climate in which we all live.
Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing.
Like streams that keep a summer mind Snow-hid in Jenooary.
In tennis the addict moves about a hard rectangle and seeks to ambush a fuzzy ball with a modified snow-shoe.
We are nearer neighbors to ourselves than the whiteness of snow or the weight of stones are to us: if man does not know himself, how should he know his functions and powers?
Don’t complain about the snow on your neighbor’s roof when your own doorstep is unclean.
Humans are animals and like all animals we leave tracks as we walk: signs of passage made in snow, sand, mud, grass, dew, earth or moss. . . . We easily forget that we are track-markers, through, because most of our journeys now occur on asphalt and concrete--and these are substances not easily impressed.
Snow has turned the world into a cemetery. But the world already was a cemetery and the snow has only come to announce it.
If you no longer live, if you my beloved, my love, if you have died, all the leaves will fall in my breast, it will rain in my soul night and day, the snow will burn my heart, I shall walk with frost and fire and death and snow, my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but I shall live
When Eddie Gray plays on snow, he doesn't leave any footprints.
Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?
Sure, you make money writing on the coast. . . but that money is like so much compressed snow. It goes so fast it melts in your hand.
The Eskimos have hundreds of word for snow but we've invented three times that many words for relationships. What really defines a relationship?
My goodness, that wee ball's gone so high there'll be snow on it when it comes down.
It feels a lot colder when you're shoveling snow than when you're building a snow fort.
Not to open the hunting season on the pretext that there is no game would be as if one gave up celebrating Christmas because there was not enough snow to go by sleigh to midnight Mass.
Be melting snow. Wash yourself of yourself.
I have to understand the nature of change. And I cannot just work with stone or the more permanent materials. I need to work with leaves and ice and snow and mud and clay and water and the rising tide and the wind and all these.
The filth under the white snow, the sunne discovers.