Winter, an evil guest, sits with me at home; blue are my hands with his friendly hand shaking.
I honour him, this evil guest, but gladly leave him alone. Gladly do I run away from him; and when one runs well, then one escapes him!
With warm feet and warm thoughts do I run where the wind is calm – to the sunny corner of my olive mount.
—Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra