What did George Herbert mean by: He that is surprized with the first frost feeles it all the winter after. - George Herbert Pastor · England Copy
+ No day so clear but hath dark clouds. Feraz Zeid, July 12, 2023December 12, 2023, George Herbert, Clouds, Dark, 0 - George Herbert Pastor · England
+ In conversation, humor is worth more than wit and easiness more than knowledge. Feraz Zeid, January 16, 2024January 16, 2024, George Herbert, Humor, Talking, 0 - George Herbert Pastor · England
+ Either wealth is much increased, or moderation is much decayed. Feraz Zeid, January 16, 2024January 16, 2024, George Herbert, Moderation, Wealth, 0 - George Herbert Pastor · England
+ Rivers neede a spring. Feraz Zeid, July 13, 2023December 12, 2023, George Herbert, Rivers, Spring, 0 - George Herbert Pastor · England
+ Hee that’s fed at anothers hand may stay long ere he be full. Feraz Zeid, January 16, 2024January 16, 2024, George Herbert, Hands, 0 - George Herbert Pastor · England
+ Ill comes in by ells, and goes out by inches. Feraz Zeid, October 3, 2023December 26, 2023, George Herbert, Ill, Inches, 0 - George Herbert Pastor · England
+ Good & quickly seldome meete. Feraz Zeid, September 14, 2023December 26, 2023, George Herbert, God, 0 - George Herbert Pastor · England
+ One paire of eares drawes dry an hundred tongues. Feraz Zeid, August 26, 2023December 24, 2023, George Herbert, Dry, Tongue, 0 - George Herbert Pastor · England
During a warm winter rain … the basins of her collarbones collected water. - Jeffrey Eugenides Author
No one can look at a pine tree in winter without knowing that spring will come again in due time. - Frank Bolles Author
Winter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with his friendly handshaking Explain - Friedrich Nietzsche Philosopher · Germany
The Snow-drop, Winter’s timid child, Awakes to life, bedew’d with tears. - Mary Robinson Politician · Ireland
They [potatoes] are good for boys cold fingers at suppertime on winter nights. - Mary Virginia Terhune
There is a wilder solitude in winter When every sense is pricked alive and keen. - May Sarton Poet · Belgium
