Quotes About Atmosphere

Baines came up behind him, a hulking form, breathing softly. He smelled of soap and wine and rosewater and lightly of fresh sweat.

Will's breath smoked in raw air; he was surprised to notice that Murchaud's did not.

Morgan met Kit's gaze calmly, her eyes dark and mysterious as emeralds in the weird, cold light.

Her scent wreathes round my head. Musk, and a field of pungent flowers. Heady, not sweet.

The voice resonated, a sound like the wind scraping the corners of old buildings and racing down the narrow streets.

Salisbury pushed the heavy door a little more open and came forward, the sleeves of his black robe rippling in the cold breeze from the window.

A Gallic-nosed fellow, slight with silver-shot dark curls and dark eyes, brushed rudely past them just as Jack returned from the top of the plank. He reeked of vertiver and musk; Jack's nose wrinkled as he passed, and he half-smiled at himself to realize how accustomed he'd become to the Puritan cleanliness of American colonials, and their aversion to heavy perfumes.

His voice was a bare whisper, resonant of violoncello and the wind of midnight trees.

The Goodlaw gave one of its enormous highly oxygenated sighs.

The stone hushed my footsteps instead of ringing with them, and yet the sun shone from without them, golden as the walls.

I will never forget experiencing Venice for the first time. It feels like you are transported to another time - the art, music, food and pure romance in the air is like no other place.

The inside of the house – with its shallow door-panels, lozenge door-knobs, polished brass ball on the end of the banisters, stuffy red matt paper with stripes to artfully shadowed as to appear bars – was more than simply novel to Henrietta, it was antagonistic, as though it had been invented to put her out. She felt the house was acting, nothing seemed to be natural; objects did not wait to be seen but came crowding in on her, each with what amounted to its aggressive cry.

That Sunday, from six o'clock in the evening, it was a Viennese orchestra that played.

He was not sprightly enough to have sprightly friends.

A storm was brewing. The wind has picked up and a mass of purple clouds was coming in from the West. It felt good to have my hair whipping around my head. I thought it might feel good to have hail beat down on me. Sometimes storms outside are the only relief for storms inside...

His hostess was one of those women who even in an overcrowded room can create a sense of spaciousness.

I'm lost in a sea of smiles as laughter echos all around me.

conducting in a church in London where, he said,

Other calculations of his show that to keep pace with the present rate of temperature change, plants and animals would have to migrate poleward by thirty feet a day, and that a molecule of CO2 generated by burning fossil fuels will, in the course of its lifetime in the atmosphere, trap a hundred thousand times more heat

We have to face the quantitative nature of the challenge," he told me one day over lunch at the NYU faculty club. "Right now, we're going to just burn everything up; we're going to heat the atmosphere to the temperature it was in the Cretaceous, when there were crocodiles at the poles. And then everything will collapse.

that a molecule of CO2 generated by burning fossil fuels will, in the course of its lifetime in the atmosphere, trap a hundred thousand times more heat than was released in producing it.

Meanwhile, an even stranger and more radical transformation is under way. Having discovered subterranean reserves of energy, humans begin to change the composition of the atmosphere.

some 365 billion metric tons of carbon to the atmosphere.

Each year, we throw up another nine billion tons