Quotes About Rain

Last color bleeds from the trees, the slow drip of rain, collapsing. The feverish maples decline. We pause to pick mushrooms, stick into our sacks these squat, warty, beige and tan hammers, these spongy plungers and rams, these alien, faceless denizens of damp. They are not in our book. As we walk through this flaccid rain, this vague sense of loss and wrong, we don't talk. But we wonder about maples and mushrooms, about us: Anything you can't name is dangerous.

Lo dice Sylvia Plath en sus diarios: «Soy ese tipo de mujer que, cuando empieza a llover [...], solo puede pensar en ventanas abiertas, ventanas de coche, ventanas de una segunda planta, ventanas por todas partes abiertas mientras la lluvia cae a raudales [...] echando a perder irremediablemente la madera, el papel de las paredes, los libros y los muebles».

Flowers wither and lose their color, much as I reflect in vain time lost to the long rain.- Kanna

The wind is shifting gradually around to the north and the rain has intensified. It's nearly dawn when he crosses the state line into Alabama, and finally it enters his mind that a hurricane has come in off the Gulf and he has been driving straight through it for the last several hours.

I learned two important things about the sound I was searching for: that it had to be indirect, refracted or muffled in some way; and that the sound had to give the impression that it would continue forever- the sound of someone practicing piano heard faintly from an unknown direction, or the sound of gentle rain outside a window, punctuated by drops falling on the casement.

More than anything, one is struck by the light. Light everywhere. Brightness everywhere. Everywhere, the sun. Just yesterday, an autumnal London was drenched in rain. The airplane drenched in rain. A cold wind, darkness. But here, from the morning's earliest moments, the airport is ablaze with sunlight, all of us in sunlight.

How ironic, to be my last game that I ever played would be against Dan in a Super Bowl. The thing I always was afraid of was playing in a Super Bowl when it was raining. I can't throw a wet ball.

Gee, I'm sorry I didn't hear you in all this rain. Go ahead in, please. Anthony Perkin's Norman Bates Talking To Janet Leigh's Marion Crane.

I had never before noticed that rain contained every color within itself, green as the fields, blue as heaven, white as a lamb, yellow as my daughter's hair.

Heart, soul, treasure, rain, sister, memory, knowledge, hope, will.

Maria was a weather witch and could stop rain by standing in a downpour with her arms uplifted.

The story became a cloud, and the cloud a sheet of rain, and rain fell throughout the empire.

who I am to talk? I dream of rain.

It had been raining, that gray, unpoetic rain of midwinter in a dreary suburb.

The windshield wipers were like a new beat in the day's rhythm. Mary

The dream was in fact a lot like the Vancouver weather—a dismal sort of longing, a rainy dreamy sadness, a weight that shifted round the heart.

I had forgotten how wonderful it is to stand on a bridge and catch the scent of rain in the air. I had forgotten how much I need to be a part of water, wind, sky.

She opens her schoolbook to a lesson called A Day In London, curls up beside me and rests her head on my shoulder...I read, We are in London. It rains. It is very cold. Everyone is sad because the weather is dreadful. Churches are empty, but shops are full. Most people drive cars, but they are very expensive. Many people are without food. The Queen wears much jewellery.

She'd always adored autumn storms, from the quiet that came before the rain, when the birds and bugs went silent, to the raucous cracks and grumbles that echoed between the clouds, rife with the possibility of goblins and ghosts.

Elállt az es?, a földek fölött kisütött a nap. Halvány szivárvány nyújtózott a szürke égbolt alatt. Monza kíváncsi lett volna, tényleg manók laknak-e a tövében, ahogyan az apja mondta neki, vagy ott is csak szar van, ahogy mindehol máshol. Kihajolt a nyeregb?l és a búza közé köpött. Manószar talán.

Padala je kiša. Sitna kiša od koje je cijeli svijet bio vlažan. Meka kao poljubac djevice, kažu, iako se Cucak jedva sje?ao kakav je to osje?aj. Kiša

Christmas was almost four months in the rearview mirror, and there was something awful about Christmas music when it was nearly summer. It was like a clown in the rain, with his makeup running.

They were in a trench sliding through a forest of corn. Machine stood over the rows, black girders that arced in the sky like the proscenium above a stage. The thought occurred to Wayne that those machines were sprayers, full of poison. They would drench the corn in a lethal rain to keep it from being eaten by invasive species. Those exact words - "invasive species" - rang through his brain. Later the corn would be lightly washed and people would eat it.

After he pulled the trigger, Bing sat with the old man and listened to the rain rattle off the roof of the garage, while John Partridge sprawled on the floor, one foot twitching and a urine stain spreading across the front of his pants. Bing had sat until his mother entered the garage and began to scream. Then it had been her turn—although not for the nail gun.