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Snowman Quotes

Browse 47 quotes about Snowman.

Snowman Quotes

“For a split second, Elsa recalled a new memory of her younger self. She was building a snowman with another girl. They pulled the snowman around the room laughing. It was clear they loved each other. Her hands started to tingle in an unfamiliar way- they were warm- then the sensation was gone and she was left with a sharp headache. What was that? she wondered. The girl had to be in her imagination. She had never used magic before that week. Had she? Elsa stood up, her legs shaking. She held on to her bed frame to keep from falling. Heart pounding, fingers aching, she closed her eyes again and tried to remember the love she had just felt coursing through her veins. The emotion was stronger than fear. This feeling had come from building something out of love- a snowman for the two girls to enjoy.”

“The Snowman by Stewart Stafford My snowball heart is a sorbet, With delusions of grandeur, Use alcohol instead of snow, And I'd make a fine iced liqueur. My arrival and departure, Are never certain things, Wherever the North wind blows, I descend on the iciest wings. Here one day, gone the next, My appearances are fleeting, Then I'm disembodied by thaws, Until our next frosty meeting. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

“Snow is...a beautiful reminder of life and all its quirks. It makes me pause. Think. Stay still. Even my mind takes the hint. It makes me feel giddy. Like a kid. I bring my hot cocoa to the window and simply sit and reminisce...It brings me back to days of school cancellations and snow igloos and King of the Mountain games in my childhood neighborhood...That for this one moment in time, I’m not an adult with all the headaches that can accompany that responsibility, but instead, I’m still the girl in pigtails with the handmade hat and mittens, just waiting to build her next snowman.”

“Old Friend, New Adventure by Stewart Stafford Snow crept down, surprising, Before the sun strolled, rising. Monochrome in palatial white, Teeth chattering in moonlight. Overnight, all became frozen. A cloud nine expedition chosen. This boy came flying out of doors, As a cat sprang with cold paws. A man shadowed me in the dark. As I sculpted him in the park, Rolling a snowball until it grew, And a snowman stood, born anew. With a carrot nose and coal eyes, Gazing at me through rictus guise, This bright curve in an unlit sky A silent friend to thaw the lies. Then fleeing back inside, To hot chocolate by the fireside, Numb, red hands slowly came alive, The joy of life, awoke and arrived. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“Harry sensed the onset of resignation. No, he bloody didn't! On the FBI course they had examined cases where it had taken more than ten years to catch the killer. As a rule, it had been one tiny random detail, it seemed, that had solved the case. However, what actually cracked it was the fact that they had never given up, they had gone all fifteen rounds and if the opponent was still standing they screamed for a return fight.”

“Winter is the king of showmen, Turning tree stumps into snowmen And houses into birthday cakes And spreading sugar over lakes. Smooth and clean and frosty white, The world looks good enough to bite. That’s the season to be young, Catching snowflakes on your tongue. Snow is snowy when it’s snowing, I’m sorry it’s slushy when it’s going.”

“The moth settled onto the curtain and sat still. It was an astonishing creature, with black and white wings patterned in geometric shapes, scarlet underwings, and a fat white body with black spots running down it like a snowman's coal buttons. No human eye had looked at this moth before; no one would see its friends. So much detail goes unnoticed in the world.”

“Liz looks at the tissue box, which is decorated with drawings of snowmen engaged in various holiday activities. One of the snowmen is happily placing a smiling rack of gingerbread men in an oven. Baking gingerbread men, or any cooking for that matter, is probably close to suicide for a snowman, Liz thinks. Why would a snowman voluntarily engage in an activity that would in all likelihood melt him? Can snowmen even eat? Liz glares at the box.”

“It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.”

“When I was nine years old, I wrote a short story called 'How to Build a Snowman,' from which no practical snowperson-crafting techniques could be gleaned. The story was an assignment for class and it featured a series of careful but meaningless instructions. Of course, the building of the snowman was a red herring.”

“It's easy to love the snow because at the end of every snowstorm it's as if the world has started over. There is no dirt, no footprints, just a layer of seamless, indiscriminate nature connecting everything to everything else. Isn't that the amazing thing about the natural world? You can tear it down, you can drill holes in it, you can ignore its power with all your might, but one morning you wake up and it has selflessly given despite all of our abuse. I think I'll make a snowman.”

“And again it snowed, and again the sun came out. In the mornings on the way to the station Franklin counted the new snowmen that had sprung up mysteriously overnight or the old ones that had been stricken with disease and lay cracked apart-a head here, a broken body and three lumps of coal there-and one day he looked up from a piece of snow-colored rice paper and knew he was done. It was as simple as that: you bent over your work night after night, and one day you were done. Snow still lay in dirty streaks on the ground but clusters of yellow-green flowers hung from the sugar maples.”