Quotes About Atmosphere

paranoid atmosphere that often pervades psychoanalytic institutes and its devastating effect on the "quality of life" in psychoanalytic education. Members

the secretive oedipal couple and the excluded children so prevalent in psychoanalytic institutes. The "paranoiagenic" (Jaques, 1976) atmosphere of psychoanalytic institutes, the

The cup of tea on arrival at a country house is a thing which, as a rule, I particularly enjoy. I like the crackling logs, the shaded lights, the scent of buttered toast, the general atmosphere of leisured coziness.

The Chatham's lobby décor was modern, serene, and understated—dignified hipster meets Tibetan monk—but the heavy police presence outside the sparkling glass doors was ruining the carefully curated Zen atmosphere. Even the potted orchids looked stressed out.

Kelly gazed at her brother who lounged against the door, looking every inch the suave, careless player he pretended to be. She hesitated, not knowing how to answer. Finally, she said, "Yes." The answer fit her mood and the situation.

truth cannot "be reduced to aphorism or formulas. It is something alive and unpronounceable. Story creates an atmosphere in which [truth] becomes discernible as a pattern."3

Em definitivo, nós somos tão donos do clima como de nós mesmos e deciframos o céu com a mesma perplexidade que os movimentos do nosso coração. Quanto à analogia feita entre a atmosfera e o humor, ela não é segura: um sol esplendoroso pode-nos ferir com a sua exuberância, a neve e o nevoeiro podem-nos mergulhar num júbilo perene.

Now at this hour, when the cirrus clouds stretched like crimson ribbons high across the southwest sky, in such a hush that not even a playful eddy dared stir moss or palm fronds, the day died in calm and in beauty.

Charles sat in lone splendor on a huge couch in the middle of Angus's spacious living room--while the other ten or twelve people present made themselves at home on the other side of the room. Anna surveyed the scene. "Okay," she said. "Who's been being a grouch?

I couldn't stay in that room with both men one more minute... Even a human woman could have drowned in the testosterone in the air, it was so strong.

He liked the fact that Venice had no cars. It made the city human. The streets were like veins, he thought, and the people were the blood, circulating everywhere.

When we speak of spirit, we mean intentionally building a supportive atmosphere or holding environment for the work.

In the book Social Intelligence, Daniel Goleman suggests that "a mood can spread through a group with great rapidity." How we show up is contagious; the mood "infects" others and spreads throughout the group. If the energy is negative, negativity will spread. If the energy is positive, creativity and optimism will spread.

Death was in the atmosphere. Only the yellow weeds in the meadow were excited by living.

It's not a large crowd," he said, "and I have the feeling this wedding party is going to end in an orgy." He shrugged his shoulders.

Le moment de la journée que je préférais, c'était à Paris l'hiver entre six heures et huit heures et demie du matin, quand il faisait encore nuit. Un répit avant le lever du jour. Le temps était en suspens et l'on se sentait plus léger que d'habitude.

Nebel war aufgekommen, ein feiner, eisiger Nebel, der einem die Lungen mit Frische füllte, daß man glaubte, in der Luft zu schweben.

The wind picks up a little more (Terribly sorry, I imagine it saying; apparently, the wind is British, wondering how it got all the way over here)

the slow regard of silent things had wafted off the moisture in the air.

Anker's was low-class enough so that the drinks were cheap, but high-class enough so that you didn't have to worry about someone picking a fight or throwing up on you. I liked it.

I closed my mouth and looked across the water. Inches away, Denna did the same. I could feel the heat of her. She smelled like road dust, and honey, and the smell the air holds seconds before a heavy summer rain.

She wasn't dressed like a student. She wore an elaborate burgundy dress with long skirts, a tight waist, and matching burgundy gloves that rose all the way to her elbows. Moving deliberately, she managed to get down off the stool without tangling her feet and made her way over to stand nest to my table. Her blond hair was artfully curled, and her lips were a deeply painted red. I couldn't help wondering what she was doing in a place like Anker's.

IT WAS NIGHT AGAIN. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.

A great spider of lightning crawled across the sky,