“Honest Winter, snow-clad, and with the frosted beard, I can welcome not uncordially; But that long deferment of the calendar's promise, that weeping gloom of March and April, that bitter blast outraging the honour of May how often has it robbed me of heart and hope?”

“Today, give yourself permission to be outrageously kind, irrationally warm, improbably generous. I promise it will be a blast.”

“I hope the people I hurt can see past the prank to the very real respect and affection I feel for them. If not, I may have to take my own advice, buy myself some cute shoes and march on. I hope that's not how it ends, though. I hope this boy-meets-girl-pretending-to-be-boy story has a happy ending, one with less bitter and more sweet.”

“Pike spawn in February, March, and April because they cannot wait until May.”

“I'm pretty lost in becoming all this frost. Bitter, like Winter. Strung-out like a string of pearls.”

“This is how we leave the world,with the heart weeping,and the hope that distancebrings the solving wonderof one last clear viewbefore that long sleepabout the weather's changes”