Quotes About Atmosphere

The weather in this place: you can feel it between your fingers.

The air between them seemed to accumulate energy.

The only sound is the patter of the rain turning Saint-Malo into mud.

Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere.

All month the ice muttered and howled and whistled. The trees echoed back and forth among themselves. Taken collectively, the sound was of deep wounding, of winter inexorably taking the life out of things.

Rain falls so lightly that it seems indistinguishable from fog.

The air swarms with so much that is invisible!

There is great pleasure in being out in the city before the sun is up, streetlights glowing, the hum of a Parisian day commencing.

December sucks the light from the castle. The sun hardly clears the horizon before sinking away. Snow falls once, twice, then stays locked over the lawns.

Every thirty-one hundred years a volume of water equivalent to all the oceans passed through the atmosphere.

Werner looks up at the stone houses arrayed wall to wall, tall and aloof, their faces damp, their windows dark. No lamplight anywhere. No antennas. The rain falls so softly, almost soundlessly, but to Werner it roars.

Storms rinse the sky...

He checked the barometer he'd nailed to the family room wall: the pressure was rising.

the air would get so heavy with moisture he imagined he could feel each bloated molecule as it toppled into his lungs.

To survive here required one to sip the air; the wide sky belonged to the nobles.

El aire es una biblioteca y registro de todas las vidas vividas, de todas las frases dichas, de todas las palabras que aún reverberan

Rumour,Light,Air

And the skies: in one day the sky could travel from green at dawn to a noontime blue so severe it was almost black to hot silver in the afternoon to roiling burgundy at sunset. Just before night it flowered in yawning, imperial violets. Wedges of mauve, cauldrons of peach—skies more like drugs than colors.

Berlin seems not to want to accept the sunlight, as though its buildings have become gloomier and dirtier and more splotchy in the months since he last visited. Though perhaps what has changed are the eyes that see it.

the air a library and the record of every life lived, every sentence spoken, every word transmitted still reverberating within it.

Caesar's famous clemency, although regarded with some suspicion, contributed to an atmosphere of calm.

The moon had risen over Tawleigh-on-the-Water but somehow the soft wash of the light only made the little harbour town seem all the darker.

The sun hovered briefly on the horizon, then dipped below. At once, the clouds rolled

But Pünd took his time leaving the house. Fraser knew that he was not so much searching for clues as sensing the atmosphere – he had often heard him talk about the memory of crime, the supernatural echoes left behind by sadness and violent death. There was even a chapter in that book of his. 'Information and Intuition' or something like that.