Icicles Quotes

Chicharito must have icicles flowing through his veins

My father was ruined by hard drink - he sat on an icicle.

There'll be icicles and birthday clothes And sometimes there'll be sorrow

I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on white.

and the stars were icicles of mockery

The fire of purpose easily melts the icicles of obstacles.

Music comes from an icicle as it melts, to live again as spring water.

In a sky of iron the points of the Dipper hung like icicles and Orion flashed his cold fires.

You think we stand a chance? (Delphine) Like an icicle on the equator. (Phobos)

What is reality? An icicle forming in fire.

Nervous hands as if the fingers were dripping from them like icicles.

You've been cold to me so long, I'm crying icicles instead of tears.

How to Commit the Perfect Murder" was an old game in heaven. I always chose the icicle: the weapon melts away.

She watched the sun bleed water out of the icicle. Warm and cold working together to make an icicle. Warm and cold anger working together to make a fury, a fury worthy enough to use as a weapon against the old things that still needed fighting.

The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle that's curded by the frost from purest snow.

the hymns were born in the fifteenth or sixteenth century or earlier, and listening to them was like licking an icicle: the same chill, the same purity.

I am volatile for one, rigid for another, angular as an icicle in silver, or voluptuous as a candle flame in gold.

Blackened skeleton arms of wood by the wayside pointed upward to the convent, as if the ghosts of former travellers, overwhelmed by the snow, haunted the scene of their distress. Icicle-hung caves and cellars built for refuges from sudden storms, were like so many whispers of the perils of the place; never-resting wreaths and mazes of mist wandered about, hunted by a moaning wind; and snow, the besetting danger of the mountain, against which all its defences were taken, drifted sharply down.

The snow has left the cottage top; The thatch moss grows in brighter green; And eaves in quick succession drop, Where grinning icicles have been, Pit-patting with a pleasant noise In tubs set by the cottage door; While duck and geese, with happy joys, Plunge in the yard pond brimming over. The sun peeps through the window pane: Which children mark with laughing eye, And in the wet street steal again To tell each other spring is night.

People peep into boxes at moving stereoscopic prints, imagining they're in other worlds, and the crowd around a glassblower wonders whether icicles have formed in summer. Potted trees revive and suddenly look fresh when a florist sprinkles water on them, while papier-mâché turtles hanging out for sale move in the wind and take on souls.

I turn and I look back across the lake. The mist is gone and the ice diminished, the drip of the icicles quick and heavy. The sun is up and the sky is blue empty blue light blue clear blue. I would drink the sky if I could drink it, drink it and celebrate it and let it fill me and become me. I am getting better. Empty and clear and light and blue. I am getting better.

Life is like invading Russia. A blitz start, massed shakos, plumes dancing like a flustered henhouse; a period of svelte progress recorded in ebullient despatches as the enemy falls back; then the beginning of a long, morale-sapping trudge with rations getting shorter and the first snowflakes upon your face. The enemy burns Moscow and you yield to General January, whose fingernails are very icicles. Bitter retreat. Harrying Cossacks. Eventually you fall beneath a boy-gunner's grapeshot while crossing some Polish river not even marked on your general's map.

The neck on which diamonds might have worthily sparkled, will look less tempting when the biting winter has hung icicles there for gems.

Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, their beards of icicles and snow.

Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is hung.

Just when normal life felt almost possible - when the world held some kind of order, meaning, even loveliness (the prismatic spray of light through an icicle; the stillness of a sunrise), some small thing would go awry and veil of optimism was torn away, the barren world revealed. They learned, somehow, to wait those times out. There was no cure, no answer, no reparation. (161)

In the vast reaches of the dry, cold night, thousands of stars were constantly appearing, and their sparkling icicles, loosened at once, began to slip gradually toward the horizon.

I'm glad that life isn't like a Christmas song, because if my friends and I were building a snowman and it suddenly came alive when we put a hat on it, I'd probably freak and stab it to death with an icicle.

As in an icicle the agnostic abides alone. The vital principle is taken out of all endeavor for improving himself or bettering hisfellows. All hope in the grand possibilities of life are blasted.