Quotes About Rain

When Benjamin Franklin, the famous inventor and publisher, was serving as the American ambassador to France, he often impressed French intellectual with the wisdom of his remarks. At one dinner, the question was raised, "What human condition deserves the most pity?" Each of the guests responded, but the answer that is still remembered is Benjamin Franklins's: "A lonesome man on a rainy day who does not know how to read.

Esta tarde ví llover, Vi gente correr, y no estabas tu.

Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets.

There is weeping in my heartLike the rain falling on the city.

II pleure dans mon coeur Comme il pleut sur la ville. NÆ¡i tim Ä'ây n?c n?, nhÆ° thành ph? mÆ°a rÆ¡i...

Tears are shed in my heart like the rain on the town. ( Il pleure dans mon coeur Comme il pleut sur la ville. )

Ariette III Il pleure dans mon coeur Comme il pleut sur la ville ; Quelle est cette langueur Qui pénètre mon coeur ? Ô bruit doux de la pluie Par terre et sur les toits ! Pour un coeur qui s'ennuie, Ô le chant de la pluie ! Il pleure sans raison Dans ce coeur qui s'écoeure. Quoi ! nulle trahison ? Ce deuil est sans raison. C'est bien la pire peine De ne savoir pourquoi Sans amour et sans haine Mon coeur a tant de peine !

Il pleure dans mon coeur Comme il pleut sur la ville.

Night. Rain. A livid sky pierces the lacework Of spires and towers, the silhouette of a Gothic Town dim in the gray distance.

When the March rains fell over the plains and the ragged face of the escarpment, six million yellow flowers cracked open all at once. Red-and-white butterflies, the ones that looked like peppermint sticks, flashed in twists against the sparkling air. But

Almost as soon as I arrived back at Njoro, it began to rain for the first time in over a year. The sky went black, splitting open with a deluge that didn't want to stop.

I was thinking about forgiveness today. You know, so many people get confused about what it is, binding it up with guilt. Feeling ashamed about things they never had any control over in the first place. I don't believe forgiveness is something we have to kill ourselves trying to earn. It's already here, all around us, like rain. We just have to let it in.

I learned most of my Swahili there, more and more eager for stories…how the hyena had got his limp and the chameleon his patience. How the wind and rain had once been men before they failed at some important task and were banished to the heavens.

I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder....

Sounds of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain awaken'd flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass

The fitful alternations of the rain, When the chill wind, languid as with pain Of its own heavy moisture, here and there Drives through the gray and beamless atmosphere.

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.

Winter with its ink of showers and rain, with its pen of lightning and palm of clouds, wrote a letter of purple and blue across the beds of the garden. No artist in his cunning could measure his work beside it—and so, when earth longed for the sky it embroidered the spread of its furrows with stars.

The temperature fell. The rain quickened, thinning the clouds, clearing the sky. Evolution began once more.

red rain is coming down red rain is pouring down red rain is coming down all over me I'm bathing in it red rain coming down red rain is coming down red rain is coming down all over me I'm begging you red rain coming down red rain coming down red rain coming down red rain coming down over me in the red red sea over me over me red rain

In a cement park across the street is this giant sculpture. It is a giant umbrella frame lying on its side. It's green. Stand under it, during a rainstorm, you'll still get wet - that's why it's art.

What I'd noticed was that here, in the windshadow of the mountain, it often smelled like rain. It might be raining up on the ridge, I might see the veils and rags of rain hanging down out of the scudding clouds, I might see shrouds of rain hauled over the country the way a fishing boat might drag a net, but—no rain here. A spatter, maybe, then nothing. Willy told me when I first moved in that it was like living in a strip bar. So close, looks so good and you never get laid.

Then a weather front would move in off the Channel, a howling south-westerly accompanied by punishing rain that would drum on the empty tables and lash the windows of boutiques filled with mannequins in beachwear, as if mocking anyone who dared to pretend that England ever actually had a summer.

Now no shrub of the field had yet appeared on the earth, nor had any plant of the field sprouted; for the LORD God had not yet sent rain upon the earth, and there was no man to cultivate the ground.