Quotes About Atmosphere

Barrage balloons dotted the sky like blind whales bobbing around in the wrong element.

Back out in what passed for daylight, he was greeted by ancient, tall tenements staring blankly at each other from either side of the street, making it feel more like a tunnel, making it feel as if night had fallen. If there had been no people around, you might have mistaken it for a film set of a Dickens novel. You might have mistaken it for the past itself.

The convent smelled like every Catholic church Jackson had ever been inside—an excess of incense and Mansion House polish.

feeling that always came with the rain and the dark. She'd just

The city atmosphere certainly has improved her. Some way she doesn't seem like the same woman.

A general air of surprise and genuine satisfaction fell upon everyone as they saw the pianist enter.

She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wears. The notes of a distant song which someone was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. There were patches of blue sky showing here and there though the clouds that had met and pilled one above the other in the west facing her window.

I could see dust motes dancing around joyfully in the air. What do dust motes have to be so happy about?

Below him, the lamplighter was lighting the lamps that lined the wide avenue.

drew her coat close around her and tried to slip through the crowd, all converging on the

For me, a peaceful atmosphere devoid of noise and distractions is absolutely the worst place for poetry, likely to wind me up in a doomed attempt to stare down a blank page. My funny old brain, like those of many poets, has always done its best work sideways, seeking out tricky enjambments and surprising slant rhymes to craft lines capable of pulling their own weight.

In the daytime, there was often a lovely patch of blue, and sometimes toward evening, before twilight, the clouds turned bright orange or pink.

She once complained that her stories were like 'birds bred in cages,' but that concentrated atmosphere, that claustrophobic hothouse of emotion, was her talent. Her stories were little masterpieces of compression: she succinctly contained whole lifetimes in a few pages, every moment loaded with as much as it could bear.

His wife maintains she can tell whether or not Jim is in the house simply by the amount of energy she feels in the air. But

The pond lay to the south of the house. To get there you went out the back entrance, and down the narrow twisting path, pushing past the overgrown bracken that, in the early autumn, would still be blocking your way. Or if there were no guardians around, you could take a short cut through the rhubarb patch. Anyway, once you came out to the pond, you'd find a tranquil atmosphere waiting, with ducks and bulrushes and pond-weed.

the English landscape at its finest - such as I saw it this morning - possesses a quality that the landscapes of other nations, however more superficially dramatic, inevitably fail to possess.

Perfect night, wasn't it? It could have been. I smiled up at him. But you were there.

He turned, a stray slip of moonlight illuminating a sliver of his face, blue eyes glowing almost preternaturally in the darkness.

The interior looked like I expected. Two rooms--a main one and a tiny bedroom. Dusty stuffed fish and moth-eaten elk heads on bare walls. A wood plank floor that seemed as if it hadn't been swept in years. Cobwebs decorating the ceiling. Furniture that would have been rejected by Goodwill. Mouse droppings everywhere. A few dark furry bat forms hung from the upper eaves. In the city, the place would have been condemned as a public health hazard. Here, it was just a typical hunting shack.

And then it will rain.

He walked beside me, so close I could smell woodsmoke on his jacket. I thought of warning him that there was a ban on campfires with the dry weather, but that sounded snotty. I'm sure he knew. I'm sure he didn't care.

There was also something false about the atmosphere here. It was solemn and dignified like a church or the court of a president or a museum. They were moneylenders, but they acted as if charging interest were a noble calling, like the priesthood.

como si una nube hubiera ocultado el sol.

There had been a wonderful atmosphere of liberation and camaraderie. The Russians hated it.