Quotes About Atmosphere

After the death of all living creatures, all our unfulfilled wishes and unspoken words will go on drifting in the stratosphere, they will combine with one another and linger upon the earth like fog. What will this fog look like in the eyes of the living? Will they fail to remember the dead and instead indulge in banal meteorological conversations like: It's foggy today, don't you think?

Gloom is but a shadow of a cloud passing by

Overhead the night was a superb arch of clear frost, sifted with stars.

Every film should have its own world, a logic and feel to it that expands beyond the exact image that the audience is seeing.

Most recently we've been working in concert situations rather than clubs. because there aren't too many rooms there like Ronnie Scott's, that are pure music rooms, where people come specifically to listen to music.

Just for the record, the weather today is calm and sunny, but the air is full of bullshit.

in the outer city, the northern accents clamoring around

She was the sort of person whose mood preceded her into the room whenever she arrived, an extra presence that could not be ignored.

Along the way, I picked up an Old Scots word for dreariness: dreich. The man who taught it to me sold gorgeous cashmere scarves made in Scotland and had just finished reciting a Robert Burns poem to me. Dreich, he explained, "means . . . nothingness." He pointed outside and said, "It means that," referring to the gray spitty skies that hadn't once shown the sun while I'd been there. Dreich. A perfect word both in sound and meaning.

A very sweet light is spreading over the Earth like a perfume. The moon is slowly dissolving and a boy-sun languidly stretches his translucent arms ... Cool murmurings of pure waters that surrender themselves to the hillsides. A pair of wings dances in the rosy atmosphere. Silence, my friends. The day is about to begin.

For me, a landscape does not exist in its own right, since its appearance changes at every moment; but the surrounding atmosphere brings it to life - the light and the air which vary continually. For me, it is only the surrounding atmosphere which gives subjects their true value.

The light constantly changes, and that alters the atmosphere and beauty of things every minute.

We go out in the fog in the morning won't burn.

The heat compounded, and ugliness settled its cloud over us, profound as human speech, although by then we were not speaking.

The atmosphere is much too near for dreams. It forces us to action. It is close to us. We are in it and of it. It rouses us both to study and to do. We must know its moods and also its motive forces.

Like the temperature of a fireplace, everything on earth is dependent on the temperature.

Hitting the first molecules of the upper atmosphere created friction that merely warmed the rod. The lower it fell, the more the heat built, until the entire length of the rod glowed red then yellow, and, finally, a brilliant white.

I love Paris in the summer, when it sizzles.

The number of foggy days over the city is never reported, reportedly. But take it from me— there's enough to satisfy everyone, and dissatisfy somebody.

Outside, in and about the snow and the dark, where fancies dangled and fear hung over the starched snow in rolling mists, something was coming to pass.

To me, food is as much about the moment, the occasion, the location and the company as it is about the taste.

Night changed the streets. It dressed them in the mourning clothes named darkness, and applied the makeup called mystery.

If that guy don't look like the loneliest thing ever. And it ain't because he's turned his back on the world. With him, everybody's happy to see him coming, but no one's sorry to see him go. And anybody who catches sight of him is bound to step aside on account of the intense scent he's got about him.

but the air as damp as if the afternoon had been rubbed with snails.