Conviction.

How could I convince you?

Well, I'd tell you that we would have to live all by ourselves, in a perfect winter wonderland, procreating and living happily through the brief spring and summer and staying indoors reading to our children fables and teaching them astronomy and astrology.  For the first few years, it would be rough, but we'd enjoy it because we'd never felt so alive.  And we'd think and look back at our lives scuttling about through the streets and laugh at ourselves, laugh because all the frivolity of the world was within our grasp and we had nothing to fear.  And then, maybe one day, one of us would injure ourself on accident, and I would spend the entire winter at your side, hunting and cooking and feeding as you fight against the ailment that presented itself before you, and you would have spells of desperation where we would hug each other tightly in the dark and put away and shut out the winter, and when all else fails, we'd awake.  And find another spring to start melting the snow away, giving life to the firs and the pines and a soft breeze, playing with the frosted flowers that are emerging when we open our cabin door.  We look at each other and realize, we did it. We made it through the impossible winter, surviving through ingenuity and craftsmanship and our children would wander through the woods, befriending the beavers and wolves and bears and they would come to accept our existence as we accept theirs and we would create a druidic Amon Hen-type place and we would all gather and celebrate life and happiness and joy and pleasure and light and then, only then, we would slumber.  Peacefully.