Quotes About Mist

Mountainside, cloaked in falling straight into water as smooth and reflective as glass. You knew, looking at it, that it was a mile deep. Lush spring flowers, laughing sky. But changeable, and everywhere bones of rock. Good country in summer, but dangerous if approached without caution and, in winter, utterly isolated from the next valley by the mountains suddenly cloaked in ice and mist. Troll country.

But until now I did not understand; everything was in a sort of mist. And I believe it all arose from believing that the brain is in the head. It's not so at all; it comes with the wind from the direction of the Caspian Sea.

Memory's distances, youth's wishes, childhood's dreams, the short joys of a whole long life and hopeless hopes come grey-clad, like evening mist after the sun has set.

My steps along this streetResoundin another streetIn whichI hear my stepsPassing along this streetIn whichOnly the mist is real.

A mist lay on the sea, very white but thinning here and there so the water beneath could be seen looking like green milk.

O Lord, this morning disperse every mist, and shine clear and strong and invigoratingly. Forgive my tardiness, it takes me so long to awaken to some things.

Within the sky-like empty mind, habitual tendencies and disturbing emotions are just like clouds and mist. When they appear, they appear within the expanse of empty mind. When they remain, they remain within the expanse of empty mind. And when they dissolve, they dissolve in that same expanse of empty mind.

Then the Maw did something really disgusting. It let loose with the evil mother of all farts. It was actually visible, a gray murky mist. I covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve, but my eyes were burning. I had been tear-gassed before. This was worse. While

The brilliant trees burned through the heavy mist and he climbed them to pluck leaves of gold, cramming fistfuls inside his sweater, imagining the wealth that would be his.

We will never forget those sombre valleys where the mist never lifts. The sudden ambuscade, arrows whipping like a swarm of hornets from the trees. Silent assassins crawling on their bellies, axe in one hand, knife in the other.

Oceans, emotions, ships, ships, and other relationships, keep us going through the fog and wandering mist. What is it that I missed?

They shoved off and picked up the paddles. They could see their breath. In the gray dawn the river smoked with tendrils of mist. No wind, the water glass-smooth. No sound but the current frilling the stones of the bank. No bird chatter, no crickets. The river and the burns on either side were very still, the only movement there the tatters of flame worrying the biggest fallen logs.

For He draws up drops of water which distill the rain from the mist,

I have blotted out your transgressions like a cloud, and your sins like a mist. Return to Me, for I have redeemed you.

What shall I do with you, O Ephraim? What shall I do with you, O Judah? For your loyalty is like a morning mist, like the early dew that vanishes.