There were, in Feo's experience, five kinds of cold. There was wind cold, which Feo barely felt. It was fussy and loud and turned your cheeks as red as if you'd been slapped, but couldn't kill you even if it tried. There was snow cold, which plucked at your arms and chapped your lips, but brought real rewards. It was Feo's favorite weather: The snow was soft and good for making snow wolves. There was ice cold, which might take the skin off your palm if you let it, but probably wouldn't if you were careful. Ice cold smelled sharp and knowing. It often came with blue skies and was good for skating. Feo had respect for ice cold. Then there was hard cold, which was when the ice cold got deeper and deeper until at the end of a month you couldn't remember if the summer had ever really existed. Hard cold could be cruel. Birds died in midflight. It was the kind of cold that you booted and kicked your way through. And then there was blind cold. Blind cold smelled of metal and granite. It took all the sense out of your brain and blew the snow into your eyes until they were glued shut and you had to rub spit into them before they would blink. Blind cold was forty degrees below zero. This was the kind of cold that you didn't sit down to think in, unless you wanted to be found dead in the same place in May or June.Feo had felt blind cold only once. Katherine Rundell
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  3. Your words on the screen are my color palette I dip my brush into your words and paint you On the sky, on the ceiling, on the snow; on the tablet Of things eternal : love truth beauty happiness - Anonymous

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More Quotes By Katherine Rundell
  1. I do, I’m afraid, understand books far more readily than I understand people. Books are so easy to get along with.

  2. People say we can't do anything about the way the world is; they say it's set in stone. I say it looks like stone, but it's mostly paint and cardboard.

  3. No harm in listening. Alexei's a child, not a wizard. We don't lose control of our brains by listening.

  4. If music can shine, Sophie thought, this music shone... 'It's like eight thousand birds, Charles! 'When the music closed, she clapped until the rest of the audience had stopped and until her hands were hot and blotched with red... There was something in the music...

  5. Perhaps, she thought, that’s what love does. It’s not there to make you feel special. It’s to make you brave. It was like a ration pack in the desert, she thought, like a box of matches in a dark wood. Love and courage, thought Sophie–two...

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