A Quote by Walter Alston

It's not the winter that bothers me - it's the summers. — © Walter Alston
It's not the winter that bothers me - it's the summers.
Winter is ruthless and sometimes sullen and murderous. The wild winter North has gulped ten thousand summers down nor left a froth of sunshine on its lips.
Death doesn't frighten me, it bothers me. It bothers me for example that someone can be there tomorrow but me I am no longer there. What bothers me is no longer being alive, not being dead.
Summer was here again. Summer, summer, summer. I loved and hated summers. Summers had a logic all their own and they always brought something out in me. Summer was supposed to be about freedom and youth and no school and possibilities and adventure and exploration. Summer was a book of hope. That's why I loved and hated summers. Because they made me want to believe.
If your partner asks you if something bothers you, and something bothers you, the best thing you can do is say, "Yes, it bothers me." Otherwise you create a situation where they think everything is fine, continue with the offending behavior, while you build up a secret reservoir of resentment that will eventually come pouring out, to their shock.
Perhaps the wind Wails so in winter for the summers dead, And all sad sounds are nature's funeral cries For what has been and is not.
If something bothers me, it bothers me for a long time until I find a way to work it out. Music provided me with a means of working things out.
I watch the springs, the summers, the autumns; And when comes the winter snow monotonous, I shut all the doors and shutters To build in the night my fairy palace.
We really can't boil a man's life down to seasonal divisions of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Seasons cycle perennially, and we enjoy them because they recur. We should understand a man's life this way too. An elderly person may yet see new springs and summers. On the other hand, some young people never escape winter. Others become ensnared by their own private autumns.
When death comes, it's just like winter. We don't say, "There ought not to be winter." That the winter season, when the leaves fall and the snow comes, is some kind of defeat, something which we should hold out against. No. Winter is part of the natural course of events. No winter, no summer. No cold, no heat.
It is not the high summer alone that is God's. The winter also is His. And into His winter He came to visit us. And all man's winters are His - the winter of our poverty, the winter of our sorrow, the winter of our unhappiness - even 'the winter of our discontent.
What really bothers me, what gets me mad, is when people don't know the story, but then pretend like they know the story. That's what bothers me. That's what makes me mad.
Like Hyderabad you can't shoot outside in summers. Similarly, Delhi gets scorching in summers.
People think I'm against critics because they are negative to my work. That's not what bothers me. What bothers me is they didn't see the work. I have seen critics print stuff about stuff I cut out of the film before we ran it. So don't tell me about critics.
What bothers you isn't so much whether you're beautiful or not. What bothers you is the way that people stare.
The state calls Paul Winthrop to the stand." ... Paul answered the opening questions briefly, weighing his words, his eyes on Julia's. "Would you tell the court the nature of your relationship with Miss Summers?" "I'm in love with Miss Summers." The faintest of smiles touched his lips. "Completely in love with Miss Summers.
I love to watch the fine mist of the night come on, The windows and the stars illumined, one by one, The rivers of dark smoke pour upward lazily, And the moon rise and turn them silver. I shall see The springs, the summers, and the autumns slowly pass; And when old Winter puts his blank face to the glass, I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight, And build me stately palaces by candlelight.
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