December Quotes

“How did it get so late so soon?”
― Dr. Seuss

“I heard a bird sing in the dark of December. A magical thing. And sweet to remember. We are nearer to Spring than we were in September. I heard a bird sing in the dark of December.”
― Oliver Herford

“December's wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer's memory...”
― John Geddes A Familiar Rain

“It is growing cold. Winter is putting footsteps in the meadow. What whiteness boasts that sun that comes into this wood! One would say milk-colored maidens are dancing on the petals of orchids. How coldly burns our sun! One would say its rays of light are shards of snow, one imagines the sun lives upon a snow crested peak on this day. One would say she is a woman who wears a gown of winter frost that blinds the eyes. Helplessness has weakened me. Wandering has wearied my legs.”
― Roman Payne

“Colored lights blink on and off, racing across the green boughs. Their reflections dance across exquisite glass globes and splinter into shards against tinsel thread and garlands of metallic filaments that disappear underneath the other ornaments and finery.

Shadows follow, joyful, laughing sprites.

The tree is rich with potential wonder.

All it needs is a glance from you to come alive.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“Now is the time of fresh starts
This is the season that makes everything new.
There is a longstanding rumor that Spring is the time
of renewal, but that's only if you ignore the depressing
clutter and din of the season. All that flowering
and budding and birthing--- the messy youthfulness
of Spring actually verges on squalor. Spring is too busy,
too full of itself, too much like a 20-year-old to be the best time for reflection, re-grouping, and starting fresh.
For that you need December. You need to have lived
through the mindless biological imperatives of your life (to bud, and flower, and show off) before you can see that a landscape of new fallen snow is THE REAL YOU.
December has the clarity, the simplicity, and the silence you need for the best FRESH START of your life.”
― Vivian Swift, When Wanderers Cease to Roam: A Traveler's Journal of Staying Put

“Someone asked me when is my birthday?
The poet inside me replied,
"My birthday is on the last day of the year,
It's 31st December my dear!”
― Anamika Mishra

“The rapid nightfall of mid-December had quite beset the little village as they approached it on soft feet over a first thin fall of powdery snow. Little was visible but squares of a dusky orange-red on either side of the street, where the firelight or lamplight of each cottage overflowed through the casements into the dark world without. Most of the low latticed windows were innocent of blinds, and to the lookers-in from outside, the inmates, gathered round the tea-table, absorbed in handiwork, or talking with laughter and gesture, had each that happy grace which is the last thing the skilled actor shall capture--the natural grace which goes with perfect unconsciousness of observation. Moving at will from one theatre to another, the two spectators, so far from home themselves, had something of wistfulness
in their eyes as they watched a cat being stroked, a sleepy child picked up and huddled off to bed, or a tired man stretch and knock out his pipe on the end of a smouldering log.”
― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows

“December.
A desperate celebration of an end.”
― Chandrama Deshmukh, A Teaspoon Of Stars

“December is... by Stewart Stafford

December is all that we give,
And whatever we receive,
It is those who surround us,
And those who have taken leave.

December is celebrating light,
Where only darkness dwells,
It is the ripping of wrapping paper,
And tempting culinary smells.

December is letting go,
Of all the past year's fails,
And starting anew in January,
As time again chases its tail.

© Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“It was a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their eyes when they flung the door open. In the fore-court, lit by the dim rays of a horn lantern, some eight or ten little field-mice stood in a semicircle, red worsted comforters round their throats, their fore-paws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for warmth. With bright beady eyes they glanced shyly at each other, sniggering a little, sniffing and applying coat-sleeves a good deal. As the door opened, one of the elder ones that carried the lantern was just saying, "Now then, one, two, three!" and forthwith their shrill little voices uprose on the air, singing one of the old-time carols that their forefathers composed in fields that were fallow and held by frost, or when snow-bound in chimney corners, and handed down to be sung in the miry street to lamp-lit windows at Yule-time.”
― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows

“December’s immaculate coldness feels warm. December feels like blood.”
― Zinaida Gippius

“the first snowflakes caress
the love lace of dying leaves”
― Remy Alberi, The Comprehension Watch

“Christmastime was always my favorite time of year. It did something to me. It made me softer. More kindhearted. Not an affliction I fall prey to lately. But back then I loved the days leading up to Christmas almost as much as I loved the day itself.”
― Serena Valentino, Evil Thing

“December is the holdout month, all the others torn away.”
― Anne Gisleson, The Futilitarians: Our Year of Thinking, Drinking, Grieving, and Reading

“December.
The days begin white and glittering with snow---on the roof, the branches of the sycamore, where a robin has taken up residence. It reminds Kate of Robin Redbreast from The Secret Garden---for so many years, her only safe portal to the natural world. Only now does she truly understand her favorite passage, memorized since childhood:
"Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us."
Often, before she leaves for work, she stand outside to watch the sun catch on the white-frosted plants, searching for the robin's red breast. A spot of color against the stark morning. Sometimes, while she watches it flutter, she feels a tugging inside her womb, as if her daughter is responding to its song, anxious to breach the membrane between her mother's body and the outside world.
The robin is not alone in the garden. Starlings skip over the snow, the winter sun varnishing their necks. At the front of the cottage, fieldfares---distinctive with their tawny feathers---chatter in the hedgerows. And of course, crows. So many that they form their own dark canopy of the sycamore, hooded figures watching.”
― Emilia Hart, Weyward

“On December the twenty-third, the park was hazy from clammy mists that muted and softened all color and distance. Michael had not set off for Whitelow after breakfast, so I bundled myself into my redingote that was as thick and warm as a man's, and pulled on my sable hat and muff. Even so, the chill pinched my nose as I hurried along paths of mushy leaves, sending startled birds pink-pinking up into the air. Claw-like seed pods clung to my skirts; the fine flowers of summer drooped slimy and black. I collected a few posies of evergreens to paint: stiff pine cones, jewel-like berries of black and scarlet, and oval seed pods as lustrous as pearl.”
― Martine Bailey, A Taste for Nightshade

“Christmas in Barbados

I miss being in Barbados in December,
That is a time I always remember,
The smell of varnish on the wooden floors
and the smell of paint on the wooden floors.
The smell of cloves as the ham was baked
And the smell of the rum in mother’s fruit cake
The smell of coconut as she bake de sweetbread,
And the smell of the cloth, as she made up de bed”
― CHARMAINE J FORDE

“Eating a meal in Japan is said to be a communion with nature. This particularly holds true for both tea and restaurant kaiseki, where foods at their peak of freshness reflect the seasonal spirit of that month. The seasonal spirit for November, for example, is "Beginning Anew," because according to the old Japanese lunar calendar, November marks the start of the new tea year. The spring tea leaves that had been placed in sealed jars to mature are ready to grind into tea. The foods used for a tea kaiseki should carry out this seasonal theme and be available locally, not flown in from some exotic locale.
For December, the spirit is "Freshness and Cold." Thus, the colors of the guests' kimonos should be dark and subdued for winter, while the incense that permeates the tearoom after the meal should be rich and spicy. The scroll David chose to hang in the alcove during the tea kaiseki no doubt depicted winter, through either words or an ink drawing. As for the flowers that would replace the scroll for the tea ceremony, David likely would incorporate a branch of pine to create a subtle link with the pine needle-shaped piece of yuzu zest we had placed in the climactic dish. Both hinted at the winter season and coming of New Year's, one of David's underlying themes for the tea kaiseki. Some of the guests might never make the pine needle connection, but it was there to delight those who did.”
― Victoria Abbott Riccardi, Untangling My Chopsticks: A Culinary Sojourn in Kyoto

“There's something magical about December”
― Charmaine J Forde

“We Indians have to keep aside our December for friends who've settled abroad.
Everyone is visiting. Everyone wants to party.”
― Nitya Prakash

“25th December 2020 will go down in history as the Christmas of death.”
― Steven Magee

“25th December 2020 will be remembered as the poverty Christmas.”
― Steven Magee

“DECEMBER

The month of Giving”
― Charmaine J. Forde

“Just imagine if we lived each month like it was December.”
― Charmaine J Forde

“We go through Poseidon’s month.
Ponderous clouds sag with water
and furious storms break out
collapsing the rain earthward.”
― Anakreon

“Some of the most amazing people I know are born in December”
― Charmaine J. Forde

“December is a month of divine deal.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita

“An Eleventh Pretender by Stewart Stafford

Pardon me, thou art king
Of paling November’s hedgerow,
Demanding fealty from December,
That crowns the year, and justly so.

I hear thy shrill trumpets blow,
They shake my windows so.
None shun the stepping stone.
To Christmas feasting’s glow.

Thou host saints and souls indeed,
Commemorate foiled plots.
Martinmas turns harvest to winter,
And mirth at Guildhall spots.

Thou art an impostor yet
in the Western world, or here.
Blow hence, ninth month of Rome,
Paucity’s envy of double-digit's year.

© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“D-December never means
E-end, it's the time to
C-celebrate and rejoice
E-express love and joy
M-mesmerize the moments
B- believe in blithe spirit
E- enhance the end and
R- rhyme with the beginnings.”
― Deepa Gera