So how cold is it?
It’s as cold as iron. As cold as stone. “Colder than a polar bear’s toenails,” OutKast sang.
“It’s so cold the dogs are sticking to the sidewalks,” Thornton Wilder wrote.
It’s colder than a brass toilet seat. Colder than a witch’s … I better not say. Colder than a well-digger’s … I better not say.
It’ll be a cold day in hell, when hell freezes over.
You can give an icy stare, take a cold hard look, or give someone the cold shoulder. But keep a cool head, otherwise you might get left out in the cold.
You can break out in a cold sweat. You can be chilled to the bone. You can shiver your timbers.
You can have a cold in your nose, or a cold in your head, or maybe you just have a stone cold heart.
Why is a cold sore the same thing as a fever blister?
You starve a fever, but feed a cold. You could feed it cold cuts, or cool beans, or revenge, which is a dish best served cold.
You can be as cool as a cucumber, or as cold as ice, or a cold fish.
You can make a cold call. You can offer cold comfort. You can go cold turkey. You can throw cold water on that idea.
You can cool your heels, but you might get cold feet.
You can cool down, or freeze up. You can cool off, or chill out. Just don’t lose your cool.
I don’t want to wake up in the cold, cold ground, in the cold light of day.
I do want a cool million in cold hard cash.
Hank Williams sang “Cold, Cold Heart.” Foreigner sang “Cold as Ice.” The Rolling Stones sang “She’s So Cold.” Baby, it’s cold outside. Do you want to build a snowman?
Some famous cold people: Jack Frost, Steve “Stone Cold” Austin, Mr. Freeze, Cool Hand Luke, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold.
There are at least three rappers with cold names: Ice Cube, Ice T, Vanilla Ice. You can use that fun fact as an icebreaker at your next party.
Poets have opined about being cold. “Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak,” wrote Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. “The cold earth slept below; Above the cold sky shone,” wrote Percy Bysshe Shelley. “In winter, all the singing is in the tops of the trees,” wrote Mary Oliver.
Shakespeare waged a cold war against winter: “barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold” … “beauty o’ersnow’d and bareness everywhere” … “the icy fang and churlish chiding of the winter’s wind.”
Winter is coming. It’s the winter of our discontent.
Everybody complains about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.