Quotes About Rain

The rain grew louder, the gutters talking to the downspouts.

Sweet April showersDo spring May flowers.

On thy grave the rain shall fall from the eyes of a mighty nation!

We hovered above the moment like two rain clouds

I want to walk beside you in the drizzle and say you can move in with me tonight, right away, even though this time they'll probably evict me and although I'm moving out in three weeks anyway

These rare gray afternoons evoke a sweet, childhood melancholy in my soul, like when it rained in kindergarten and we had to stay inside and do crafts with library paste and pipe cleaners and buttons, and I made the best project in the whole class, an ultra-powerful rubber-band zip gun, but the teacher gave me a zero because I got her in the eye with a button.

you are you and your body of steam, you and your face of night, you and your hair, unhurried lightning, you cross the street and enter my forehead, footsteps of water across my eyes, listen to me as one listens to the rain

Óyeme como quien oye llover, ni atenta ni distraída.

again. I will love the sun for it warms my bones; yet I will love the rain for it cleanses my spirit. I will love the light for it shows me the way; yet I will love the darkness for it shows me the stars. I will welcome happiness for it enlarges my heart; yet I will endure sadness for it opens my soul. I will acknowledge rewards for they are my due; yet I will welcome obstacles for they are my challenge.

There were some thoughts—such as a memory of running under the pouring rain, and how it felt—that I couldn't even begin to put into words…Yet their image was clear in my mind.

By then I'd already learned that thoughts sometimes come to us in words, and sometimes in images. There were some thoughts - such as a memory of running under the pouring rain, and how it felt - that I couldn't even begin to put into words … Yet their image was clear in my mind. And there were other things that I could describe in words but were otherwise impossible to visualize: black light, my mother's death, infinity.

Ce zici, gradinarule, vine ploaia? Omul arata vag spre apus. - O tin prizoniera dealurile, sahib.

She could feel the coolness, a whole childhood of it, falling through her. Rain on the coral beach in Galway. White tennis balls on the broken court. Her brother at his shortwave radio. A nest of wires and voices. Her father's cattle huddled on a laneway. The broken church bell. A grass verge of green in the laneway. High windows. Too tall for the school chairs. The milk came in small silver cans. She would not cry or whimper. She had always refused him that.

There is a moon shaped rictus in the streetlamp's globe where a stone has gone and from this aperture there drifts down through the constant helix of aspiring insects a faint and steady rain of the same forms burnt and lifeless.

Wrap me in the weathers of the earth, I will be hard and hard. My face will turn rain like the stones.

The immappable world of our journey. A pass in the mountains. A bloodstained stone. The marks of steel upon it. Names carved in the corrosible lime among stone fishes and ancient shells. Things dimmed and dimming. The dry sea floor. The tools of migrant hunters. The dreams encased upon the blades of them. The peregrine bones of a prophet. The silence. The gradual extinction of rain. The coming of night.

Host and sorrow to waste as one without distinction until the wretched coagulant is shoveled into the ground at last and the rain primes the stones for fresh tragedies.

She said also that while the rain fell by the will of God evil chose its own hour and that those whom it sought out were perhaps not entirely lacking of some certain darkness in themselves. She said that the heart betrayed itself and hte wicked often had eyes to see that which was hidden from the good.

The faint light all about, quivering and sourceless, refracted in the rain of drifting soot.

Each memory but a memory of the one before until…What? Host and sorrow to waste as one without distinction until the wretched coagulant is shoved into the ground at last and the rain primes the stones for fresh tragedies.

Lejos, en la llanura, en la noche sin orilla, podían ver como en un reflejo de su propio fuego en un lago oscuro el fuego de los vaqueros a unos ocho kilómetros. Por la noche llovió y la lluvia silbó en el fuego y los caballos se acercaron desde la oscuridad con sus ojos rojos parpadeando inquietos y por la mañana hacía frío y todo era gris y el sol tardó mucho en salir.

The rain had ripened all the country around and the roadside grass was luminous and green from the run-off and flowers were in bloom across the open country. He slept that night in a field far from any town. He built no fire. He lay listening to the horse crop the grass at his stakerope and he listened to the wind in the emptiness and watched stars trace the arc of the hemisphere and die in the darkness at the edge of the world and as he lay there the agony in his heart was like a stake.

believes that the secrets of the world are forever hidden lives in mystery and fear. Superstition will drag him down. The rain will erode the deeds of his life. But that man who sets himself the task of singling out the thread of order from the tapestry will by the decision alone have taken charge of the world and it is only by such taking charge that he will effect a way to dictate the terms of his own fate.

El hombre que cree que los secretos del mundo están ocultos para siempre vive inmerso en el misterio y el miedo. La superstición acabará con él. La lluvia erosionará los actos de su vida. Pero el hombre que se impone la tarea de reconocer el hilo conductor del orden de entre el tapiz habrá asumido por esa sola decisión la responsabilidad del mundo y es solo mediante esa asunción que producirá el modo de dictar los términos de su propio destino.