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“Percy was waiting for them. He looked mad.
He stood at the edge of the glacier, leaning on the staff with the golden eagle, gazing down at the wreckage he'd caused: several hundred acres of newly open water dotted with icebergs and flotsam from the ruined camp.
The only remains on the glacier were the main gates, which listed sideways, and a tattered blue banner lying over a pile of now-bricks.
When they ran up to him, Percy said, "Hey," like they were just meeting for lunch or something.
"You're alive!" Frank marveled.
Percy frowned. "The fall? That was nothing. I fell twice that far from the St. Louis Arch."
"You did what?" Hazel asked.
"Never mind. The important thing was I didn't drown.”
― Rick Riordan, The Son of Neptune

“Percy glanced over. He saw the fallen giant and seemed to understand what was happening. He yelled something that was lost in the wind, probably: Go!
Then he slammed Riptide into the ice at his feet. The entire glacier shuddered. Ghosts fell to their knees. Behind Percy, a wave surged up from the bay-a wall of gray water even taller than the glacier. Water shot from the chasms and crevices in the ice. As the wave hit, the back half of the camp crumbled. The entire edge of the glacier peeled away, cascading into the void-carrying buildings, ghosts, and Percy Jackson over the edge.”
― Rick Riordan, The Son of Neptune

“Where the glacier meets the sky, the land ceases to be earthly, and the earth becomes one with the heavens; no sorrows live there anymore, and therefore joy is not necessary; beauty alone reigns there, beyond all demands.”
― Halldór Laxness

“This thing I'm doing can hardly be called living. Instead I'm lying dormant, like a bacterium in a glacier. Getting time over with. That's all.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Year of the Flood

“It's a pity we don't whistle at one another, like birds. Words are misleading. I am always trying to forget words. That is why I contemplate the lilies of the field, but in particular the glacier. If one looks at the glacier for long enough, words cease to have any meaning on God's earth.”
― Halldór Laxness

“I live in one of the best places, bar none, to appreciate the wild natural environment. I also live in one of the most politically difficult places to work on its behalf: Alaska.”
― Kate Troll, The Great Unconformity: Reflections on Hope in an Imperiled World

“Хто сказав, що ви холодні і ворожі, мої бідолашні скупчення криги? Я знав вас і в штиль і в шторм, і стверджую, що ви дотепні і доброзичливі. Химерний похмурий гумор у ваших зрізаних вершинах, що набувають фантастичних форм. Ваші крижані поля непорочні й чисті, навіть коли боляче "кусаються". Так, ви артистично непорочні й малювничі, але надто часто сором'язлива завіса туману приховувала ваші чари.”
― Arthur Conan Doyle, Dangerous Work: Diary of an Arctic Adventure

“As she stares into the cool prisms of blues and whites, and the clear parts which fracture the light, she notices something deeper. It is a light from within the ice. It's beautiful; so she stays.”
― Danielle Rohr, Denali Skies

“Winfred Deben’s eyes yawed from the fire and gave Petey an icy glare so cold the lad pulled his cloak even tighter around his body and shivered a little. The old commander had a way of making grown men uncomfortable with just his eyes. They use to joke that Commander Deben could turn a river into a glacier just by looking at it. He was a stern man and he was not known to make jokes or take them well either.”
― J.R. Potts, Visitor on The Mountain

“We seemed to have emerged upon a snowy curve of mountainside below a glacier--- I believe we were in Faerie, for there were two little stone houses tucked in amongst the jagged icicles at the glacier's edge, with smoke curling from their chimneys. One had an apple tree in its yard, the apples coated in a rind of ice. The icicles themselves were like a forest of glittering trees, through which the fox faerie was darting, deeper into the glacier.
"Hurry up!" the faerie called.
I hurried, against my better judgment I might add, but then that is almost always the case when interacting with the Folk; stumbling into an impossible forest of icicles is not the most ill-advised thing I have done in my career. The forest made little plinking sounds and reflected our darting shapes strangely. In the distance, there was music.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands