A Quote by Jack Kerouac

February dawn -- frost on the path Where I paced all winter. — © Jack Kerouac
February dawn -- frost on the path Where I paced all winter.
Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?
Frost grows on the window glass, forming whorl patterns of lovely translucent geometry. Breathe on the glass, and you give frost more ammunition. Now it can build castles and cities and whole ice continents with your breath’s vapor. In a few blinks you can almost see the winter fairies moving in . . . But first, you hear the crackle of their wings.
So dawn goes down today... Nothing gold can stay. -- Robert Frost
On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence.
He that is surprized with the first frost feeles it all the winter after.
Spring, if it lingers more than a week beyond its span, starts to hunger for summer to end the days of perpetual promise. Summer in its turn soon begins to sweat for something to quench its heat, and the mellowest of autumns will tire of gentility at last, and ache for a quick sharp frost to kill its fruitfulness. Even winter — the hardest season, the most implacable — dreams, as February creeps on, of the flame that will presently melt it away. Everything tires with time, and starts to seek some opposition, to save it from itself.
Me, I always wanted frost power.” “Frost power?” “Yeah.” Seth gestured dramatically toward my coffee table. “If we’re talking superhero abilities. If I had frost power, I could wave my hand, and suddenly that whole thing would be covered in ice.” “Not frost?” “Same difference.” “How would frost and/or ice power help you fight crime?” “Well, I don’t know that it would. But it’d be cool.
One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow
A sap run is the sweet goodbye of winter. It is the fruit of the equal marriage of the sun and frost.
The hearts that love will know never winter's frost and chill. Summer's warmth is in them still.
It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.
February, when the days of winter seem endless and no amount of wistful recollecting can bring back any air of summer.
Late February days; and now, at last, Might you have thought that Winter's woe was past; So fair the sky was and so soft the air.
The only bubble in the flat champagne of February is Valentine’s Day. It was no accident that our ancestors pinned Valentine’s Day on February’s shirt: he or she lucky enough to have a lover in frigid, antsy February has cause for celebration, indeed.
The winter's frost must rend the burr of the nut before the fruit is seen. So adversity tempers the human heart, to discover its real worth.
I don't think 'Lootera' is slow paced; it's finely paced for its setting and story.
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