No season lasts forever because all of life is a cycle of planting, reaping, resting, and renewal. Winter is not infinite: even if you’re having challenges today, you can never give up on the coming of spring. For some people, winter means hibernation; for others, it means bobsledding and downhill skiing! You can always just wait out the season, but why not make it into a time to remember?

In the midst of winter, I find within me the invisible summer...

Our winters are very long here, very long and very monotonous. But we don't complain about it downstairs, we're shielded against the winter. Oh, spring does come eventually, and summer, and they last for a while, but now, looking back, spring and summer seem too short, as if they were not much more than a couple of days, and even on those days, no matter how lovely the day, it still snows occasionally.

It was a strange winter and nothing and everything happened.

Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.

Into the eternal darkness, into fire and into ice.

I see the cliffs, glaciers, torrents, valleys of Switzerland - I mark the long winters and the isolation.

And he would watch the snow falling, thin and ceaseless, on the empty lands below the window, and feel the dull cold grow within him, till it seemed no feeling was left to him except a kind of weariness.

Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.

It was the kind of winter day that makes you forget that the weather was ever any different, and you feel like it has been winter all the way back to Adam.

Dwelling upon the severity of your personal winter merely makes the winter more difficult to endure

The eternal silence of these infinite spaces fills me with dread.

There is rather an unending night, as old as the sea itself. For most of its creatures, groping their way endlessly through its black waters, it must be a place of hunger, where food is scarce and hard to find, a shelterless place where there is no sanctuary from ever-present enemies, where one can only move on and on, from birth to death, through an endless night, confined as in a prison to his own particular layer of the sea.

Winter changes into stone the water of heaven and the heart of man.