Quotes About Atmosphere

However much one lacks piety, the atmosphere in a graveyard encourages quiet reflection.

Bridge; candles were being lit in the four-storey houses

All the emotion in the room made the air feel supersaturated, but at the same time it felt as if they were doing some spring cleaning of the soul.

It is easy to forget that you live in the sky - not beneath it, but within it. Our atmosphere is an enormous ocean, and you inhabit it. This ocean is made up of the gases of air rather than liquid water, but it is as much of an ocean as the Atlantic or the Pacific. You may think of yourself as living on the ground, but all that means is that you are a creature of the ocean bed. You still inhabit the atmosphere like a sea creature does the water.

Clouds are the most egalitarian of nature's displays, since each one of us has a good view of them, so it really doesn't matter where you are.

A cloudspotter should hold up three fingers with an extended arm. If the individual elements of the layer are wider than all three fingers, the cloud is probably of the lower Stratocumulus genus. If they are smaller than the width of one finger, then it is more likely to be a high layer of cloudlets, called a Cirrocumulus. It is most likely to be an Altocumulus layer when the size of the cloudlets is somewhere between the two – smaller than three fingers and larger than one.

The rain keeps up throughout the next day. "Lovely English summer we're having," everyone jokes.

Suddenly, I see it. A flaming piece of rock hurtling through the atmosphere. Oh my god. I'm the fucking asteroid.

Loads of chemicals and hazardous wastes have been introduced into the atmosphere that didn't even exist in 1948. The environmental condition of the planet is far worse than it was 42 years ago.

The air smelled like testosterone and manflesh again. (That was a thing, right?)

And then they were inside, and out of the wind, and surrounded by comforting walls and walls of books. The rich, delightful smell of old paper, leather, and ink permeated the place, washing away the pettier odours of blood and oil and smog.

The atmosphere of the place soothed her automatically; the rich lantern-lights, the sheer scent of paper and leather, and the fact that everywhere she looked, there were books, books, beautiful books.

O wynd, o wynd, the weder gynneth clere.

The other night I ate at a real nice family restaurant. Every table had an argument going.

Tonight's forecast: Dark. Continued dark tonight turning to partly light in the morning.

Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies, Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies; The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare, And shed their substance on the floating air.

Indeed, it required a nose both subtle and unprejudiced to understand and appreciate and thoroughly enjoy that Paris—not the Paris of M. le Baron Haussmann, lighted by gas and electricity, and flushed and drained by modern science; but the "good old Paris" of Balzac and Eugène Sue and Les Mystères—the Paris of dim oil-lanterns suspended from iron gibbets (where once aristocrats had been hung);

And he could glance at her continually as she bent over the fruit, while the level evening sunbeams stole through the thick apple-tree boughs and rested on her round cheek and neck as if they too were in love with her.

He's getting grimmer and grimmer," Barabas said. "Derek?" "Yes. Before long he will start emitting his own dark cloud." "Maybe we can all sneak around under the cover of his darkness.

No one quite knew why, but they felt light-hearted. Maybe it was because of the beautiful weather. The sky, so blue, seemed gently to bow down towards the horizon and caress the earth.

Yes! It must be done by showing contrasts: one word for misery, ten for egotism, cowardice, closing ranks, crime. Won't it be wonderful! But it's true that it's this very atmosphere I'm breathing. It is easy to imagine it: the obsession with food.

All around him, in his house, everything consisted of fragments of beauty. Sometimes modest, sometimes valuable, these fragments combined to form a unique atmosphere of soft luminosity – the only one worthy of a cultured man, he thought. When he was twenty he had worn a ring with an inscription inside: This thing of Beauty is a guilt for ever (Monsieur

The unspoken words trembled in the air.

Only the house was still desolate and the day had a livid ruined atmosphere, time had been damaged in some deep way, like on a day of bereavement or frightful national disaster.