Quotes About Wind

Out here, there was salt on the wind itself that fell on your skin like rain. You could taste it. Out here the sun heated and the wind cooled, and the waves sang their constant song.

They continued to mount the winding staircase. A high wind, blowing through the loopholes, went rushing up the shaft, and filled the girl's skirts like a balloon, so that she was ashamed, until he took the hem of her dress and held it down for her. He did it perfectly simply, as he would have picked up her glove. She remembered this always.

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!

In front of the house was a huge old ash-tree. The west wind, sweeping from Derbyshire, caught the houses with full force, and the tree shrieked again. Morel liked it. It's music, he said. It sends me to sleep. But Paul and Arthur and Annie hated it. To Paul, it became an almost demonical noise.

Because mountains are high and broad, the way of riding the clouds is always reached in the mountains; the inconceivable power of soaring in the wind comes freely from the mountains

Nothing remains but desire, and desire comes howling down Elysian Fields like a mistral.

Gentilly is swept fitfully by desire and by an east wind from the burning swamps at Chef Menteur.

But I am not the sea nor the red sun, I am not the wind with girlish laughter, Not the immense wind which strengthens, not the wind which lashes, Not the spirit that ever lashes its own body to terror and death, But I am that which unseen comes and sings, sings, sings, Which babbles in brooks and scoots in showers on the land, Which the birds know in the woods mornings and evenings, And the shore-sands know and the hissing wave, and that banner and pennant, Aloft there flapping and flapping.

Ser sostenida por sobre la tierra y barrida por el viento, dijo, es como si tú corazón fuera besado por la belleza. — Juli Baker

The cloud is free only to go with the wind. The rain is free only in falling.

Most of the American films were made in southern California, so if you were in Europe, watching those palm trees swaying in the wind with someone like Rita Hayworth gliding underneath them in a white convertible, you got all kinds of wonderfully wrong ideas about the place.

There's a beauty in birds on the wing, That stirs the heart and makes earthbound creatures Long for flight, but the larks above the battlefield Are silenced by the sounds of war. I have watched birds out at sea, Catching the wind, And longed to follow them, To some safe place far from here.

It's said that the shuffling of the cards is the earth, and the pattering of the cards is the rain, and the beating of the cards is the wind, and the pointing of the cards is the fire. That's of the four suits. But the Greater Trumps, it's said, are the meaning of all process and the measure of the everlasting dance.

The air came alive with the sound of the wind whipping the trees at times and at other times it was profoundly hushed by the endless silencing snow. Everything but me seemed utterly certain of itself. The sky didn't wonder where it was.

Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there: Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came, And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame...

Forget that second-ticking clock. Time is the seed Waiting to fly from the milkweed pod. Time is the speed Of a dragonfly. Time is the weight of the ripened nut Eager to fall. Time is the rabbit's desperate scut. Time's dimensions are hidden in rocks, In wind and rain, but never in clocks.

An ancient maple-tree, a strong sweet tree That has made wild music from the wind and snow For ninety winters; a maple-tree whose arms, Stretching against the rain, the bouncing hail, Has sheltered multitudes of travellers And straggling hosts of elders, wayworn, palsied, And weary with the day,—for ninety summers.

The wind makes you ache in some place that is deeper than your bones. It may be that it touches something old in the human soul, a chord of race memory that says Migrate or die—migrate or die.

Oh racing wind, thou wizard of the west, From half across the world ye come to me... Oh wind, wild wind, blow through my heart to-day!... Today I am in love with life and thee!

Wind tries to show Tree how to run wild. Tree: "I cannot leave this place." Wind: "Then let's dance."

I spend the nights awake searching my soul and my days half-asleep chasing dreams in the wind.

May brooks and trees and singing hills Join in the chorus too, And every gentle wind that blows Send happiness to you.

O to blot out this garden to forget, to find a new beauty in some terrible wind-tortured place.

Two sounds of autumn are unmistakable...the hurrying rustle of crisp leaves blown along the street...by a gusty wind, and the gabble of a flock of migrating geese.