The world that our senses and our consciousness habitually acquaint us with is now nothing more than the shadow of itself; and it is cold like death.

This world that I live in is empty and cold; the loneliness cuts me and tortures my soul.

Cold is thy heart and as frozen as Charity!

Truth cared nothing for stories. The real world was indifferent to what people wanted to be, to how they wanted everything to turn out. Betrayers came from everywhere, including inside his own body, his own mind. He could trust no one, not even himself.

what if there is no land of light and honey, only cold and dark and pain beyond the wall called death?

Life cracked like ice!

Truth is a pathless land.

Truth has very few friends and those few are suicides.

The truth can be a harsh and cruel reality.

How dreadful the knowledge of the truth can be
When there’s no help in truth.

This is a wintry world. Low temperatures prevail in the hearts of men. Altruism is scarce. Gaunt but blessed hands stretch up to us everywhere for bread. They are the holy hands of Truth.

The wet air was as cold as the ashes of love.

Because the universe was a cold, callous place. And they had just peered into the gulf separating the astronomically unlikely from the truly impossible.

The mysteries of a universe made of drops of fire and clods of mud do not concern us in the least. The fate of humanity condemned ultimately to perish from cold is not worth troubling about. If you take it to heart it becomes an unendurable tragedy. If you believe in improvement you must weep, for the attained perfection must end in cold, darkness and silence. In a dispassionate view the ardour for reform, improvement for virtue, and knowledge, and even for beauty is only a vain sticking up for appearances as though one were anxious about the cut of one’s clothes in a community of blind men.