Quotes About Moist

And it is said that extraordinary rains generally dash down after great battles, whether it is that some divine power drenches and hallows the ground with purifying waters from Heaven, or that the blood and putrefying matter send up a moist and heavy vapour which condenses the air, this being easily moved and readily changed to the highest degree by the slightest cause.

Cumming unexpectedly drpped in to show me a meerschaum pipe he had won in raffle in the City, and told me to handle it carefully, as it would spoil the colouring if the hand was moist.

The chickens look so plump and contented even in death that you imagine they offered themselves up for sacrifice proudly, after competing among themselves in life to see who could become the moistest and the fattest.

the Dank Wilderness was so dank it would have been difficult to imagine anything danker

Her beauty was cool as this damp breeze, as the moist softness of her own lips.

Carbon dioxide is the raw material of photosynthesis, and is readily absorbed into the moist leaves of the mosses.

After a winter's gestation in its eggshell of ice, the valley had beaked its way out into the open, moist and yellow.

The air inside the station wagon was cold and fragile. I could see the moist air when he exhaled, and this made me want to palpate my own stony lungs.

Eh!" Clemenza yelled. He pulled a moist handkerchief from his rumpled jacket and mopped his forehead. "What's with all the oranges? Everywhere I look, there's bowls of oranges.

Free will is an illusion. Humans are nothing but moist robots.

England is like the margin of a spring-run: near its source, always green, always cool, always moist, comparatively free from frost in winter and from drought in summer.

And autumn ain't so shabby for wow, either. The colors are broccoli and flame and fox fur. The tang is apples, death, and wood smoke. The rot smells faintly of grapes, of fermentation, of one element being changed alchemically into another, and the air is moist and you sleep under two down comforters in a cold room. The trails are not dusty anymore, and you get to wear your favorite sweaters.

Life is an adventure. Anything in the world is possible—by will and by luck, with a moist carrot, a wet nose, and a slice of mad courage!

The tagine's dome top is supposed to force the condensation back into the dish and keep it moist and tender.

The novel is a formidable mass, and it is so amorphous - no mountain in it to climb, no Parnassus or Helicon, not even a Pisgah. It is most distinctly one of the moister areas of literature - irrigated by a hundred rills and occasionally degenerating into a swamp. I do not wonder that the poets despise it, though they sometimes find themselves in it by accident. And I am not surprised at the annoyance of the historians when by accident it finds itself among them.

They do a terrible job of adapting to natural ecosystems (like a mature forest or grassy prairie). If you were to abandon your garden tomorrow and let nature have its way with the place, most plants that fit into the category of garden weeds would be gone within a few years. Garden weeds depend on humans to provide them with an open place to grow, and they further benefit from our efforts to keep garden soil fertile and moist. Where humans cultivate, garden weeds grow.

The great secret of an authentic tagine is to simmer the ingredients over a low heat, so that everything remains deliciously moist and tender.

Think of something to say. Keep him here. Something funny and interesting and cool. "I put my wellies on because I was sure it was going to rain and now my feet are getting horribly moist," Ellie said, and it was the single worst thing she'd ever said to anyone.

Earth is our mother. It's as fertile and nurturing as farmland; as moist as soil and as dry as sand. In its physical manifestations (such as stones), earth represents the densest of the elements.

Finally the homeless eel marked its territory, I suppose, and the Doctor lay heavily upon me, moist with sweat.

Moister than an oyster, Monty.

They live like rice, too, pressed together: a moist, solid entity. If you lower your head to within a foot or two of an infested corpse (and this I truly don't recommend), you can hear them feeding. Arpad pinpoints the sound: "Rice Krispies." Ron frowns. Ron used to like Rice Krispies.

In a swamp, as in meditation, you begin to glimpse how elusive, how inherently insubstantial, how fleeting our thoughts are, our identities. There is magic in this moist world, in how the mind lets go, slips into sleepy water, circles and nuzzles the banks of palmetto and wild iris, how it seeps across dreams, smears them into the upright world, rots the wood of treasure chests, welcomes the body home.

They were all very moist." "really? You couldn't find a different word?" "they were all somewhere between soggy and dry.