If Winter comes can Spring be far behind? — Percy Bysshe Shelley
If Winter comes can Spring be far behind? — Percy Bysshe Shelley
If Winter comes can Spring be far behind? — Percy Bysshe Shelley
If Winter comes can Spring be far behind? — Percy Bysshe Shelley
If Winter comes can Spring be far behind? — Percy Bysshe Shelley
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If Winter comes can Spring be far behind?

— Percy Bysshe Shelley
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More “Winter” Quotes

Franklin knew that the truth lay with the winter night: the world was silent and black-and-white. — Steven Millhauser, Little Kingdoms
The day I arrived in Yakutsk with my colleague Peter Osnos of The Washington Post, it was 46 below. When our plane lande — David K. Shipler, Russia: Broken Idols, Solemn Dreams
She looked at the produce stalls, a row of jewels in a case, the colors more subtle in the winter, a Pantone display con — Erica Bauermeister, The Lost Art of Mixing
On harsh, frigid January days, when the winds are relentless and the snow piles up around us, I often think of our small — Arlene Stafford-Wilson, Lanark County Calendar
Then, just at the peak of complacency, when it was assumed that the climate of the world had changed forever, when the c — Mark Helprin, Winter's Tale
Daylight would have shown a wilderness weathered and blowzy, a wanton that had lived her summer too fast and too greedil — Irvin S. Cobb, On an Island that Cost Twenty-Four Dollars
...I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember — John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
The days were longer then (for time, like money, is measured by our needs), when summer afternoons were spacious, and th — George Eliot
Deep silence fell about the little camp, planted there so audaciously in the jaws of the wilderness. The lake gleamed li — Algernon Blackwood, Monster Mix
Maybe eventually winter will finish our job for us and end the world in ice instead of blood. — Isaac Marion, Boarded Window
The moon grew plump and pale as a peeled apple, waned into the passing nights, then showed itself again as a thin silver — James Carlos Blake, Wildwood Boys
In January in Northern Russia, everything vanishes beneath a deep blanket of whiteness. Rivers, fields, trees, roads, an — Robert K. Massie, Catherine the Great: Portrait of a Woman