Every mile is two in winter.

I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.

Every winter,When the great sun has turned his face away,The earth goes down into a vale of grief,And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables,Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay -Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.

Winter dies into the spring, to be born again in the autumn.

To shorten winter, borrow some money due in spring.

Spring, summer, and fall fill us with hope; winter alone reminds us of the human condition