A man says a lot of things in summer he doesn't mean in winter.

Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.

Peace blossoms when the winter of hate turns into the summer of love.

Those who left us in winter are still within reach, they are the sizzle of summer and the floret of spring.

In the summer I have this friend who I am closest to, and sometimes, in the winter, I long to call her up and say, come here and live with me, in this cold place. But we are summer friends. There is a rule it seems, that summer friends don't get together in the wintertime. Now, sitting here, waiting for her, I realize that I have never seen her in a winter coat, and for some reason that makes me sadder than anything else in the world.

The moods he's shown me have all been vastly different...as different as summer and winter, sometimes with fall between them.