Quotes About Thunderstorm

Amanda became pregnant during a fierce thunderstorm. "Was it the lightning or the lover?" she was sometimes heard to muse. When her son was born with electrical eyes, people no longer thought her foolish.

Passion is a thunderstorm, there and gone. It nourishes, si, but it drowns, too.

Sydney in the 1960s wasn't the exuberant multicultural metropolis it is today. Out in the city's western reaches, days passed in a sun-struck stupor. In the evenings, families gathered on their verandas waiting for the 'southerly buster' - the thunderstorm that would break the heat and leave the air cool enough to allow sleep.

Vampire in real life aren't like the ones in the movies. They weren't going to be playing baseball in a thunderstorm.

If complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards!

One opal cloudlet in an oval form reflects the rainbow of a thunderstorm which in a distant valley has been staged for we are most artistically caged.

In case of a thunderstorm, stand in the middle of the fairway and hold up a one iron. Not even God can hit a one iron

It was one of those heavy, sultry afternoons when nature seems to be saying to itself, 'Now, shall I, or shall I not, scare the pants off these people with a hell of a thunderstorm?

This Soon is like a thunderclap. This little word is like the spark that sets off the thunderstorm, and suddenly, for the thousandth part of a second, the whole world is bright beneath this word.

The rain was pouring outside and he heard a crack of thunder. A moment later the accompanying lightning brightened his room briefly.

She was giddy with night air, burning like the white-hot moon. Everything smelled wet and feral like it did before a thunderstorm, and she wanted to run, swift and eager, beyond the edge of what she could see.

A Cue from Nature Run outside during a thunderstorm That downpour, that conquered hesitation, that exhilaration That's what unlonely is like

Rain was coming down in sheets. I could hear it, on the concrete outside and on the old building above me. It creaked and swayed in the spring thunderstorm and the wind, timbers gently flexing, wise enough with age to give a little, rather than put up stubborn resistance until they broke. I could probably stand to learn something from that.

A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together.

I read as much poetry as time allows and circumstance dictates: No heartache can pass without a little Dorothy Parker, no thunderstorm without W. H. Auden, no sleepless night without W. B. Yeats.

When the cold front of demographics meets the warm front of unrealized dreams, the result will be a thunderstorm of purpose the likes of which the world has never seen.

Where was she now, the girl with the thunderstorm heart?

Once the runoff comes down in a normal year, the online readout from the gauging stations forms a gentle wave: up slightly at night as the day's snowmelt reaches the gauge and down slightly during the day to reflect the cold, high-elevation nights. It looks like the slow heartbeat of a large animal at rest, disturbed only by the occasional thunderstorm.

He didn't try to explain ozone to her, or how raindrops hit rocks, releasing the fragrance of oils that plants had rubbed on them, or how spores in the ground give up their own earthy scent in the rain. He just took her out and let her sniff and sniff until she admitted that, yes, it smelled good outside after a thunderstorm.

A sensation of helplessness, as if it were utterly impossible to go on living. Painful waves beat relentlessly on my heart, as after a thunderstorm the white clouds frantically scud across the sky. A terrible emotion — shall I call it an apprehension — wrings my heart only to release it, makes my pulse falter, and chokes my breath. At times everything grows misty and dark before my eyes, and I feel that the strength of my whole body is oozing away through my finger tips.

World history is [the] conflict of nature in man and apart from man, akin to the other great spectacles of nature... the earthquake, the thunderstorm, the storm. The beauty of destruction, the greatness of the will to win.

Fault isn't the issue. A tree doesn't make a thunderstorm, but any fool knows where lightning's going to strike.