Ice indeed has a voice. It has a song. It sings in cracks and booms, sizzles in the water, whistles in the wind.
Ice burns, and it is hard to the warm-skinned to distinguish one sensation, fire, from the other, frost.
The only real security that a man can have in this world is a reserve of knowledge, experience and ability.
The ice was his friend now and it would keep him alive. It was a bad enemy but a good friend.
The world is changing, and there's ice in the veins of men where there should be fire.
The ice was here, the ice was there, the ice was all around. It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, like noises in a swound!