Quotes About Wind

that stone Buddha deserves all the birdshit it gets I wave my skinny arms like a tall flower in the wind

Absence is to love what wind is to fire it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great.

Up high, wind purled the canopy roof. Where we were, the air didn't move, as still as the inside of a tomb. I turned on my headlamp and shone it up, illuminating detritus of sees and spores slowly falling. "We're in a snow globe," JT said.

A wind started up. It began scouring our cheeks, and we lifted hands, blocking our faces from a gauze of blowing sand. So much wind came that it was hard to breathe without covering our noses and mouths. We stood and shouldered our packs to keep going. Sidewinder tracks lifted off the dunes and flew around us.

stop groaned with the wind that had

Men bring evil into the world and breed it up for their sport the way they breed their hunting dogs. They change and spoil and destroy what is within their reach; but women go on, unchanging as the wind.

It must take some courage to fly, to trust the wind to hold you as it lifts you away from all you've ever known. To know inside that you're heading where you're meant to go—even if you've never been there before. And that 'I hope so' will be enough to get you there.

Dicey looked out over the tall marsh grasses, blowing in the wind. If the wind blew, the grasses had to bend with it.

This World" It appears that it was all a misunderstanding. What was only a trial run was taken seriously. The rivers will return to their beginnings. The wind will cease in its turning about. Trees instead of budding will tend to their roots. Old men will chase a ball, a glance in the mirror– They are children again. The dead will wake up, not comprehending. Till everything that happened has unhappened. What a relief! Breathe freely, you who have suffered much.

The World" It appears that it was all a misunderstanding. What was only a trial run was taken seriously. The rivers will return to their beginnings. The wind will cease in its turning about. Trees instead of budding will tend to their roots. Old men will chase a ball, a glance in the mirror– They are children again. The dead will wake up, not comprehending. Till everything that happened has unhappened. What a relief! Breathe freely, you who have suffered much.

But there is nothing in me, just fear, nothing but the running of dark waves. I am the wind that blows and dies out in dark waters, I am the wind going and not returning, a milkweed pollen on the black meadows of the world.

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

It was just the old house creaking in the wind, and talking to itself about all it had seen, and the big cheerful families which it had sheltered and sent forth into the world.

It was nothing, really; just a straw in the wind! But a straw in the wind shows which way the wind is blowing

In truth, I find the ocean unnerving. Too vast. I much prefer the forests around Stony Cross. They're always fascinating, and full of commonplace miracles... spiderwebs glittering with rain, new trees growing from the trunks of fallen oaks. I wish you could see them with me. And together we would listen to the wind rushing through the leaves overhead, a lovely swooshy melody... tree music!

I've never seen such eyes," he said almost absently. "They remind me of the first time I saw the North Sea." His fingertips followed the edge of her jaw. "When the wind chases the waves before it, the water is the same green-gray your eyes are now... and then it turns to blue at the horizon.

Wind blew down the canyon like breath through a straw, pushing the scow forward and pleating the river ahead of them.

It was the feel of it, the love of it, not the thought: it was instinct and reflex and knowing the wind, and Maris was the wind.

Who chooses the schedules we keep? We do, I guess. Although, so often it seems as if there isn't any choice. If we aren't constantly slapping new paint on all the ramparts, the wind and the weather will sneak in and erode the accomplishments of a dozen previous generations of the family. The good life demands a lot of maintenance.

A door jumps out from shadows, then jumps away. This is what I've come to find: the back door, unlatched. Tooled by insular wind, it slams and slams without meaning to and without meaning.

Moonlight and high wind. Dark poplars toss, insinuate the sea.

The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf.

The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea.

Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.