Still occasionally mistaking brightness for warmth. – Rob Temple, @SoVeryBritish (Very British Problems: Making Life Awkward for Ourse

He brewed his tea in a blue china pot, poured it into a chipped white cup with forget-me-nots on the handle, and dropped in a dollop of honey and cream. He sat by the window, cup in hand, watching the first snow fall. “I am,” he sighed deeply, “contented as a clam. I am a most happy man.” – Ethel Pochocki, Wildflower Tea, 1993

Look up at the miracle of the falling snow,—the air a dizzy maze of whirling, eddying flakes, noiselessly transforming the world, the exquisite crystals dropping in ditch and gutter, and disguising in the same suit of spotless livery all objects upon which they fall. – John Burroughs, “The Snow-Walkers,” 1866

It is beautiful when it rains far away in the distance, the bright sun shining on the mound on which you stand, and only a few guerilla drops heralding the approach of the shower towards you. – John Richard Vernon, “The Beauty of Rain,” 1863