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“... the information for six chapters, and constantly pops up – as much as Messrs Johnson, Tyson and Winter. They would appear to be beyond criticism – and certainly by me. They have succeeded in relieving the dry tone of their book with an urbane eloquence – the expositions of complex textual history, like the individual sentences, are faultlessly lucid ...”

“... bundled up in whatever came to hand, a newly liberated citizenry ventured onto the ice under a winter sky – and my mind would follow, knowing that this was the closest thing to freedom I could hope for. The skies above those frozen rivers could be translucent, almost blinding, touched with willow pattern blue or peach or an elusive pigeon grey, or the ...”

“... days – We’re knotted on one side In front of straw rising behind the casket, In front of winter, in front of sitting Past midnight, shelves, and ashtrays, Carpet, the telephone dry, Wires banging against the siding. I wanted to say, the knowledge That we were friends Always made me feel better. But I didn’t. Rather, It was you bumping over the hill ...”

“... time For foreign bigots’ fads. Well-balanced France, Your summer’s free from arid heat. Your winter Gives up its bleak excesses at your hearth. No east wind plagues make autumn faces pale, No spring floods drown your farms with fast-thawed ice. France, if for just one instant in my life I cease to love you as my patria, Send me straight back to ...”

“... Pictish well, where a jeweller worked Decades before the Norse sauna. After the sun this winter solstice Does its light work in between The low hills of Hoy, then Nine and Seven Will never be sixteen again. Near Auchtermuchty High in treetopia, on the treetop walk, I stare straight down the thick trunk of a beech, Its brontosaural hoof splayed in the ...”

“... is.’ Loganair Below, a freelance palaeontologist Gets stuck in with his JCB, And here, from the winter airspace of Fife, Coal-dark, nocturnal Burntisland ’s drip-painted with streetlamps, the Forth’s edge Scribbled with motorway lights. You’re invisible. I’m fourteen thousand feet up, Viewing the scan of our unborn child, Nearing you over the ...”

“... How Coleridge called Then later screamed, Locked In an upstairs room’s Opium dream; How when winter came They skated on the lake, William nicely Getting his skates on To slice His zigzag initials Precisely As he whizzed By on the ice; How, through long nights, They quizzed Friends, Lighting a candle’s rushlight At both ends; How, fond of good food At ...”

“... their neck?                        11I gulp flies. I flySouth for the winter, darting,Overtaking spring.                   III                        12The greatest giftIs to fuse the riddle withThe riddle’s answer.                        13We somehow lost ...”

“... a microcosm of the administrative and political efficiency of their respective states. The work of Winter, Robert and their collaborators examines how they dealt with the problems of employment, welfare, food and fuel supply, housing and public health, in an effort to estimate the degree of satisfaction which they were able ...”

“... of analytically enlightened sketch-scholars (Alan Tyson, Joseph Kerman, Douglas Johnson, Robert Winter, William Kinderman, Barry Cooper) is to such venal misprisions a corrective of which the beleaguered Beethoven may have hardly dared to ...”

“... Richardson, like most of his ilk, was naturally right-wing, and having been introduced to George Winter, ex-burglar, crime reporter and BOSS spy, and, more important, to Winter’s wife, Richardson was an obvious recruit for dirty tricks in London. He also plainly believed that his work for BOSS would provide him with ...”

“... in the following description? London knows no seasons; knows nothing of spring or summer or winter. It knows nothing but two seasons: Dust, and Mud. Now, at this moment, in May, we seem to be getting towards the end of Mud. Mud settled in more than six months ago, and has shown no sign of taking its leave just yet. The streets have settled into their ...”

“... George Buchanan’s over-the-top ‘Elegy for Jean Calvin’. The volume remains high in some of Robert Fergusson’s sophistic-performative street-talk, Burns’s on-off, rip-roaring ‘Tam o’Shanter’, MacDiarmid’s last trump blawing ‘tootle-ootle-oo’, Edwin Morgan’s Loch Ness Monstering ‘Splgraw fok fok splgrafhatchgabrlgabrl fok ...”

“... which lend a strong sense of place to the novel, show what Jin’s prose is capable of. Winter in Muji was long. Snow wouldn’t disappear until early May. In mid-April when the Songhua River began to break up, people would gather at the bank watching the large blocks of ice cracking and drifting in the blackish-green water. Teenage boys, baskets in ...”

“... to Apollo – to Demetrius and his father in 307. When Demetrius stayed in the city in the winter of 304-3 he was housed in the Parthenon. The problem with being a god is that you have to live up to expectations. After his defeat at Ipsus in 301, Demetrius was officially expelled by the Athenians. They sent a delegation to Delos to inform him that he ...”