Quotes About Mist

Outdoors; everything one might dream. The fairy-gray clouded sky and the fairy-green misted wood. Her tall horse shying at a sparkling brook. All dreams.

Behind them, in the distance, the island of Olaku looked as if it had been swallowed in mist and foam. It was the spirits, she knew, churning up the sea, but it felt as if her island had been erased, smudged out of existence like a smear of paint on a canvas.

The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.

The world was evaporating under the sun and I was floating. The town was evolving according to the laws of some sublime chemical reaction in which matter went from solid to gas, avoiding the liquid stage, peeling off gradually as layers of mist.

Glory went to look in on her father. He lay on his right side, his face composed, intent on sleep. His hair had been brushed into a soft white cloud, like harmless aspiration, like a mist given off by the endless work of dreaming.

Now they were lords of the galaxy, and beyond the reach of time. They could rove at will among the stars, and sink like a subtle mist through the very interstices of space. But despite their godlike powers, they had not wholly forgotten their origin, in the warm slime of a vanished sea.

An upland hollow and mist beneath the moon—a veil of mist over apple blossoms and the heavy bloom of an ancient lilac bush beside the ruin of a farmhouse burned these sixty years and more.

Sam came to take its somber vastness as natural; felt the million histories being enacted behind the curtained windows of the million houses. On clear days, when rare thin sunshine caressed the gray-green bricks which composed the backs of London houses, even these ugly walls had for him, in relief at the passing of the mist-pall, a charm he had never found in the hoydenish glare of sunshine on bright winter days in Zenith.

Dark, dark! The horror of darkness, like a shroud, wraps me and bears me on through mist and cloud.

Some of her turned to mist, and crept out the pores of her skin.

They dared not peer down into their own natures, down into the feverish confusion that filled their minds with a kind of dense, acrid mist.

Floating in a dream, I watched her walk away. That she had come to me at the end of a long night of misery made me want to cry tears of joy. I wanted to tell her: "How happy I am that you came to me like an apparition in that bluish mist. Now everything around me will be a little bit better when I wake up." At last I was able to fall asleep.

The swirling mist lay in the bottom of such great bowls like a broth of dreams.

To any one with artistic taste, poetic feeling, and refined perceptions, there is something inexpressibly sad in passing from a Catholic to a Protestant country, it is like passing from sunshine into mist, from mountain variety and beauty into fens, well-drained, cut into square fields, but intolerably monotonous.

In off the moors, down through the mist beams, god-cursed Grendel came greedily loping.

Once upon a time, an angel lay dying in the mist. And a devil knelt over him and smiled.

It was now just dawn; and as we stretched our cramped legs full length on the mail sacks, and gazed out through the windows across the wide wastes of greensward clad in cool, powdery mist, to where there was an expectant look in the eastern horizon, our perfect enjoyment took the form of a tranquil and contented ecstasy.

In the morning, fog. As it slowly lifted, the expedition set off.

Dreams, after all, are insubstantial things, like mist itself.

We had not mentioned love, but my every nerve ending throbbed with it, and I carried it in a cloud around me, like sea mist.

I have said before that the long corridor is wonderful. In the winter afternoons and evenings, when the mist rolled up and down over the tiles like the smoke in a tunnel, when one walked almost in darkness and peered into the then forbidden wards, when dwarfs coming from the G block grew larger and larger until the A block turned them into beings of one's own size, the corridor always made a special impression on me.

I stand in the mist and cry, thinking of myself standing in the mist and crying, and wondering if I will ever be able to use this experience in a book.

Through the mist the sun was a wavering disc kissing the shadowy arches of Waterloo Bridge.

She came skipping down the central path, bringing with her the warmth of the sun. The yellow silk glowed, driving back the mist and with her came the smell of salt and the crash of gunpowder and the crack of canvas under strain.