A Quote by Steven Brust

Minneapolis has two seasons: Road Removal and Snow Repair. — © Steven Brust
Minneapolis has two seasons: Road Removal and Snow Repair.
Well, that's the - the removal from office and removal of the Ten Commandments were two different issues.
In Minneapolis, the overhead sky walks protect pedestrians from the winter cold and snow.
My earliest memory is being in a snow hole, aged two-and-a-half, with my dad somewhere up a mountain in a blizzard. I don't know what my dad saw in me - I was a geeky kid - but he had that philosophy: prepare the kid for the road, not the road for the kid.
I had four seasons with Brondby in Denmark and they were crucial, mentally. The first two seasons there, I score nine goals, then nine goals. Then we get a new coach, Alexander Zorniger. A German guy. The next two seasons, I score 20 then 17.
Where I come from, when a Catholic marries a Lutheran it is considered the first step on the road to Minneapolis.
For the residents of Minneapolis, the loss of Prince is too large to describe. His music brought untold joy to people all over the world. But in Minneapolis, it is different. It is harder here.
In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, Snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.
In New York, they understood that my country was not a country, but winter. And that my road was not really a road, but snow.
I just hope that more people will ignore the fatalism of the argument that we are beyond repair. We are not beyond repair. We are never beyond repair.
The road to ruin is always in good repair, and the travellers pay the expense of it.
What's your road, man? - holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It's an anywhere road for anybody anyhow. Where body how?
We need to work together to embrace and repair our land, repair our power systems, and repair ourselves. It's time to stop building the shopping malls, the prisons, the stadiums, and other tributes to all of our collective failures.
Wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. The poem tells me it’s no big deal that I’m not like Snow. I can be another thing; I’m meant to be another thing.
Inside the snow globe on my father's desk, there was a penguin wearing a red-and-white-striped scarf. When I was little my father would pull me into his lap and reach for the snow globe. He would turn it over, letting all the snow collect on the top, then quickly invert it. The two of us watched the snow fall gently around the penguin. The penguin was alone in there, I thought, and I worried for him. When I told my father this, he said, "Don't worry, Susie; he has a nice life. He's trapped in a perfect world.
In four days, I experienced five seasons. It was thirty, it was sixty, it was ninety, then it was twelve! And on the last day, there was thunder, lightning, and snow - together! And I hadn't done drugs.
In a way, the road between Huaraz and the lodge is a metaphor for Peruvian politics. It used to be in good repair, and in some places still is.
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