Quotes About Mist

Everything is about energy. We're surrounded by electro mist, fog and smog. We're covering ourselves in the wrong sorts of electro-magnetism. These idiot politicians who talk about climate change, for goodness sake, do they really think little us can do anything about it? No, of course not.

When I awoke the next morning I looked out at a landscape blotted out by mist and the first thought that came to me was, I wonder who is going to be killed today?

The gulls are coming up from the sea, crying, and drifting across like pieces of mist, like fragments of white cloth. They turn their heads and peer as they pass.

History envelops the past in uncertainty, like the mist obscuring the beech trees in the valley below me. The deeper the history, the more the outlines blur, the more inferences about the past are subject to change.

The Death Mist is not for helping! Akhlys shrieked. It shrouds mortals in misery as their souls pass into the Underworld. It is the very breath of Tartarus, of death, of despair! Awesome, Percy said. Could we get two orders of that to go?

And there, shimmering in the Mist right next to us, was the last person I wanted to see: Mr. D, wearing his leopard-skin jogging suit and rummaging through the refrigerator. He looked up lazily. Do you mind? Where's Chiron! I shouted. How rude. Mr. D took a swig from a jug of grape juice. Is that how you say hello? Hello, I amended. We're about to die! Where's Chiron?

I love New York. You can pop out of the Underworld in Central Park, hail a taxi, head down Fifth Avenue with a giant hellhound loping along behind you, and nobody even looks at you funny. Of course, the Mist helped. People probably couldn't see Mrs. O'Leary, or maybe they thought she was a large,loud,very friendly truck.

Annabeth turned the blade of her drakon-bone sword, which Percy had to admit made her look pretty intimidating and hot in a "Barbarian Princess" kind of way. "So I guess your Death Mist is pretty useless, then," she said. The goddess bared her broken

I do not know how much they see through the Mist. I doubt it would matter to them if they knew the truth. Sometimes mortals can be more horrible than monsters.

An indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across her soul's summer day.

The moment she entered she felt wrapped in a fragile golden light like a radiant mist that seemed to settle around her. What was it about the mews? she often wondered. It seemed to transform the simplest things, like stone and wood and the very air one breathed, into something different. When she crossed the threshold, she felt as if she had entered another world.

I was wondering, princess. Could it be our love would never have grown so strong down the years had the mist not robbed us the way it did? Perhaps it allowed old wounds to heal.

Can it be, husband, you still fear the mist's fading, never mind the promise I made you?

What Axl and I feel today in our hearts for each other tells us the path taken here can hold no danger for us, no matter that the mist hides it now. It's like a tale with a happy end, when even a child knows not to fear the twists and turns before. Axl and I would remember our life together, whatever its shape, for it's been a thing dear to us.

In any case, ogres were not so bad provided one did not provoke them. One had to accept that every so often, perhaps following some obscure dispute in their ranks, a creature would come blundering into a village in a terrible rage, and despite shouts and brandishings of weapons, rampage about injuring anyone slow to move out of its path. Or that every so often, an ogre might carry off a child into the mist. The people of the day had to be philosophical about such outrages.

A chill December morning dawned, with rags and tatters of mist hanging on the trees like poor people's washing.

The morning behind the dark mist, the mighty and gracious cloud in the sky, scepter of power to the modest grounds yielding fruitfulness, you are the ALMIGHTY.

Prayer clears the mist and brings back peace to the Soul . . .

All things that love the sun are out of doors; The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; The grass is bright with rain-drops;—on the moors The hare is running races in her mirth; And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.

I knew immediately that it was different from other photographs. The night sky in the background was pure and black, so dark it made you dizzy if you stared at it too long. The rain drifted through the frame like a gentle mist, but right in the middle was a hollow area in the shape of a lima been.

HORSES MOVING ON THE SNOW In winter through the damp grass around the house there are horses moving on the snow in the half-light they move quickly following the fence until the mist takes them completely and evening is the hollow sound of hooves in the south field.

Then, unbelievably, out of the mist came the miracle. First two points of mast, then sails, transparent and wraithlike in the fog, then, as Kit strained her eyes, the looming hull, the prow, and the curved tail of a fish. The Dolphin! Glory be to heaven! The most beautiful sight in the world! The Dolphin, moving down toward Wright's Island on a steady breeze.

He burst from the water. He was facing her now. The muscles bunched on his arms as he slicked his wet, shoulder-length hair back from his face. The mist swirled amber over the surface of the water, adorning his gleaming skin as if he were the tributary god of this ruined garden. Her pity evaporated, burned away by the sudden realization that she had it all wrong. He was… She swallowed. Good Lord. He was magnificent.

What did I know about the horrors of the past? Did they leak into rooms like mist, under doors? Or shatter windows and burst directly into one's presence?