Quotes About Atmosphere

Padala je kiša. Sitna kiša od koje je cijeli svijet bio vlažan. Meka kao poljubac djevice, kažu, iako se Cucak jedva sje?ao kakav je to osje?aj. Kiša

The sky was the color of a migraine.

The night had a nearly liquid quality, was like sliding into a warm swimming pool, a pool filled with buoyant darkenss instead of water.

If ghosts have a color, then they are the color of an August thunderstorm getting ready to break.

The best time to see her is when the place is almost full.

Off they went down the highway, the taillights fading, the song dying, the black metal of the car melting into the fabric of night, and then there was only the whispery sound of good tires on wet cement and finally not even that. Just the blowing sound of the wind and the rain.

Somewhere, a toad farted ominously.

The lightning danced along the sky and sizzled among the trees, reverberated with butt-clenching snaps and crackles, and strobed briefly through the limbs and leaves.

To top things off nicely, it began to lightning in the east, stitching up the pit-black sky like a drunk seamstress with bright yellow thread.

I put out the lamp, left Hog snoring, crept outside, and got some air, which was rich and sticky, like a sweaty horse shank, full of the sounds of cicadas and crickets and more than a few bleating frogs.

I got the sense that she was wired into the night itself, aware of every fluctuation of electricity and sound, the reflections in glass and steel.

Clouds hid the peaks and only their flanks were visible beneath a murky ceiling.

The world turns gray, the air grows cool, the fog blows in. Only at evening can you really value home.

Expecting rain, the profile of a day Wears its soul like a hat.

The physical life of the scene is determined by whether the set squeezes people together or whether the set has an escape place in it.

Life is all about seating and lighting.

We have known since the 1800s that carbon dioxide traps heat in the atmosphere. The right amount keeps the climate conducive to human life.

Why should one say that the machine does not live? It breathes, for its breath forms the atmosphere of some towns.

An atmosphere of beliefs and conceptions has been formed by the labours and struggles of our forefathers, which enables us to breathe amid the various and complex circumstances of our life.

There are some people who walk into a room and they oxygenate it, by their very being there's fresh air. Then there are those who come in with the smell of death and they suck the life out.

My dad was kind of a pool shark and had a Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin thing going on. I've always been fascinated by the fifties because of him. There was a hip, cool, anything-goes atmosphere back then, but looking good was still a priority.

It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.

It's the moonlight. Makes all the girls look pretty.

London was beginning to illuminate herself against the night. Electric lights sizzled and jagged in the main thoroughfares, gas-lamps in the side streets glimmered a canary gold or green. The sky was a crimson battlefield of spring, but London was not afraid. Her smoke mitigated the splendour, and the clouds down Oxford Street were a delicately painted ceiling, which adorned while it did not distract.