Every winter the liquid and trembling surface of the pond, which was so sensitive to every breath, and reflected every light and shadow, becomes solid to the depth of a foot or a foot and a half, so that it will support the heaviest teams, and perchance the snow covers it to an equal depth, and it is not to be distinguished from any level field. Like the marmots in the surrounding hills, it closes its eyelids and becomes dormant for three months or more.
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)
Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?
‘Tis full three months since I did see him last.
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
Deceive not thyself by over-expecting happiness in the married estate.... Remember the nightingales which sing only some months in the spring, but commonly are silent when they have hatched their eggs, as if their mirth were turned into care for their young ones.
—Thomas Fuller (1608–1661)