Quotes About Rain

Sensory experience should not be draped on top of the story as sort of a last-minute decoration. Done right, it is woven into the fabric of the story, and as this happens, the reader is woven in, right alongside the description. In giving advice to writers, E. L. Doctorow once said that good writing should communicate more than the mere fact that it is raining. The reader should feel rained on. A

There's a certain kind of rain that falls only in comics, a thick, persistent drizzle, much heavier than normal water, that bounces off whatever it hits, dripping from fedoras, running slowly down windowpanes and reflecting the doom in bad men's hearts. It's called an "eisnershpritz," and it's named after the late Will Eisner, one of the preeminent stylists of twentieth-century comics, who never drew a foreboding scene that couldn't be made a little more foreboding with a nice big downpour.

The storm starts, when the drops start dropping When the drops stop dropping then the storm starts stopping.

The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold, wet day.

I've always said that one night, I'm going to find myself in some field somewhere, I'm standing on grass, and it's raining, and I'm with the person I love, and I know I'm at the very point I've been dreaming of getting to.

I've always said that one night, I'm going to find myself in some field somewhere, I'm standing on grass, and it's raining, and I'm with the person I love, and I know I'm at the very point I've been dreaming of getting to.

HERE THE DARKNESS REIGNS ETERNAL. There is no sun, no dawn; just the perpetual gloom of night. The only illumination comes from jagged forks of lightning, carving a wicked path through angry clouds. In their savage wake thunder shreds the sky, unleashing a torrent of hard, cold rain. The storm is coming, and there is no escape.

This morning's scene is good and fine, Long rain has not harmed the land.

Nothing Here is Enough" I need a parrot, identical days, a quantity of needles, and artificial ink to make history. I need veiled eyelids, black lines, and ruined puppets to make geography. I need a sky wider than longing, and water that is not H2O to make wings. The days are no longer enough to distinguish the missing. I no longer see you because I no longer dream. I offer a tear to the rain as if scattering you in the Dead Sea, and in order to sing you, I need glass to muffle the sound.

Any party which takes credit for the rain must not be surprised if its opponents blame it for the drought.

How much of life do we miss by waiting to see the rainbow before thanking God there is rain?

He was so benevolent, so merciful a man that, in his mistaken passion, he would have held an umbrella over a duck in a shower of rain.

Without rain, there would be no life.

Life has many changes. Tomorrow it may rain, and it's supposed to be sunshine, 'cause it's summertime. But God's got a funny soul, he plays like Charlie Parker.

Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.

There's nightingales calling, shooting stars falling, like jewels in the rain.

The rain would not have bothered Fernanda, after all, her whole life had been spent as if it were raining.

Taxes grow without rain.

You're growing up. And rain sort of remains on the branches of a tree that will someday rule the Earth. And it's good that there is rain. It clears the month of your sorry rainbow expressions, and it clears the streets of the silent armies... so we can dance.

Back then, Billy imagined that drops of rain were unanswered prayers falling back to earth.

I wait on the origin of night's sounds waking. I know that here only the blind man sings, even in rain The notes of drenched violins rise like warped mirrors' and the last clouds part slowly, like a cracked wheel.

Leopards, that is ordinary forest leopards, do not like rain and invariably seek shelter, but the man eater was not an ordinary leopard, and there was no knowing what his likes or dislikes were, or what he might or might not do.

And there is something troubling about the Burrow, something hard to name, maybe something about the low shadow it casts on the vacant lot around sunset, or maybe the smell of its walls after a November rain, so maybe the children-bless them-are right to keep their distance

How in the heck can I wash my neck if it ain't gonna rain no more?