Quotes About Atmosphere

The air felt strange against Daniel's skin, alive with unseen presences.

Wind blew strongly off the sea and seemed filled with whispering voices.

The woman's voice seemed to be all around her, and did not originate from any particular area.

At his appearance, the environment around him seemed to slow to utter stillness, and become bleached of colour.

The night was alive, as only a late summer night can be.

There was only one thing to do; enter the spirit of the place.

For several minutes, I leaned upon the rail, gazing out across the city of Sacramente, breathing in its riot of scents; the hot flesh-smell beneath me, the flower haze above.

Tonight, even though he was not physically present, Tayven's spiritual presence was very much in evidence. Merlan could feel it, like a creature crowded in the dark, ready to leap out and hiss.

The darkness was electric, almost vigilant.

As one, the silent gathering slid out onto the balcony, human patrons in pursuit.

The house wove a spell over her, as if melancholy dreams drifted down from the cobwebbed corners.

Slowly the sense of ritual stole around the smoky chamber and entered my mind and body.

She wished she could sweep her brother out of the house, tidy up in his wake, remove his presence from the atmosphere. Having him around made the place feel dirty.

As if the elements themselves were relieved the ceremony was over, the sun had begun to shine wanly through a gap in the clouds.

The clouds trembled about the sky, already muttering with thunder.

There is an atmosphere in Sacramante like nowhere else on Earth. Now I understand some of what inspires it but then, as a girl, I was intoxicated and spellbound by its hectic gaeity, its intimation of secrets.

Little Moor is enchanted by heat, a heat that pervades everything, even flesh!

Sudden squalls of wind seemed to talk to him, pluck his hair in a spiteful way.

This country; you can feel the magic, can't you?" He inhaled slowly. "Smell it.

Logan glanced at the clock on the cooker: nearly five minutes fast. The room was bathed in the pale orange glow of the overcast sky, the back garden a jungle of silhouettes and shadows through the window. He filled the kettle, then poured half of it out, before sticking it on to boil. The growing rumble drowned out the babble on his Airwave handset as DI Bell got his firearms team into place.

The snow lay thin and apologetic over the world. That wide grey sweep was the lawn, with the straggling trees of the orchard still dark beyond; the white squares were the roofs of the garage, the old barn, the rabbit hutches, the chicken coops. Further back there were only the flat fields of Dawson's farm, dimly white-striped. All the broad sky was grey, full of more snow that refused to fall. There was no colour anywhere.

In Edinburgh, there was a lovely little Episcopalian Church of Scotland church on my way to the theater, so I used to pop in there and soak up the atmosphere.

Playing college soccer was going to be the top of my athletic feats. I wasn't going to the Olympics. I was a decent player, but it's because of hard work, not because I was Freddy Adu. I wouldn't have a medal from the Olympics if I wasn't in a chair. I wouldn't have gone to the Olympics and experienced the whole atmosphere.

In Arizona, we're at 7,000 feet, so we're above half of the world's atmosphere. It's crisp but hard, a side-raking light that can be revealing but doesn't have the softness that maritime air has.