Quotes About Wind

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

On a windswept hill by a billowing sea, my destiny sits and waits for me.

The river flows to the sea, whatever the wind says about it

All the dreams I'd allowed myself to imagine were nothing but pages swept away by the wind.

The fragrance of flowers spreads only in the direction of the wind. But the goodness of a person spreads in all direction.

She stood for a moment looking out at a slowly moving view of the hills, watching heather slide past underneath the door, feeling the wind blow her wispy hair, and listening to the rumble and grind of the big black stones as the castle moved.

What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney?

What succor, what consolation is there in truth, compared to a story? What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney?

My gripe is not with lovers of the truth but with truth herself. What succor, what consolation is there in truth, compared to a story? What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney? What you need are the plump comforts of a story. The soothing, rocking safety of a lie.

I thought of women in other places, streets and boulevards in major cities, wind blowing, a woman's skirt lifting in the breeze, the way the wind tenses the skirt, giving shape to the legs, making the skirt dip between the legs, revealing knees and thighs. Were these my father's thoughts or mine?

BUDGE (muffled) No,no,nono. NURSE BAKER I understand what you're trying to say. BUDGE A hideous scream. NURSE BAKER Exactly. BUDGE A cry of desperation. NURSE BAKER Perfect. BUDGE A strangled sob. A plea torn from my throat. What sound can I make to convince you I'm not the one you want? A disconsolate sigh? Maybe that's what you want to hear. The smallest human moan imaginable. A whisper in a corner of an unlit room, with curtains blowing in the wind. NURSE BAKER What could be more touching?

Her umbrella was useless in the wind. It was the kind of wind-whipped rain that empties the streets of people and makes day and place feel anonymous.

What if it blows this way?" "It won't." "Just this one time." "It won't. Why should it?" He paused a beat and said in a flat tone, "They just closed part of the interstate." "They would want to do that, of course." "Why?" "They just would. A sensible precaution. A way to facilitate movement of service vehicles and such. Any number of reasons that have nothing to do with wind or wind direction.

am, as an English poet says in an entirely different context, 'as free as the road, as loose as the wind.'" Brunetti

Ils étaient les hommes et les femmes du sable, du vent, de la lumière, de la nuit. Ils étaient apparus, comme dans un rêve, en haut d'une dune, comme s'ils étaient nés du ciel sans nuages.

I wish I had learned to sail sooner in ministry rather than rowing so hard." I immediately thought of the way I have rowed so hard against the wind rather than hoisting a sail and yielding the boat of my life to the wind of God's Spirit—blowing my life wherever He wanted.

After a while, maybe hours, perhaps a few days, she fond herself talking to the hare. At first just comments on how bright the day was, the beauty of cherry blossom, the touch of the wind.

wasn't afraid of dying because dying had always been somewhere in our house, somewhere so close, we could feel the wind of it on our cheeks.

When I sit down beside my mother, she shivers. When I touch Ellie's shoulders, she smiles like she knows it's me. Maybe she does. Who could have told me that the wind was some passed-on soul stopping to touch your face, your hands, your hair. Who knew a surprising cool breeze was someone who had gone before you saying, 'You're loved.

Feels like a long time ago, but not so far in the past that I don't remember the way that Chicago cold slipped past your bones, I swear. That wind coming off the water? What?!

Each day, her sore and swollen body pressed against a hard wind blowing her own eyes closed. At night she went in and out of fitful sleeps, woke in the dark, sweaty and struggling for air. Where had the air gone?

Lontano di già si è ritirato il mare Ma nei tuoi occhi socchiusi Due piccole onde son rimaste Demoni e meraviglie Venti e maree Due piccole onde per annegarmi.

I'll always be there, Anna, in every ship you see sailing past. I'll be the wind in its sail.

The exciting isolation of leaning against the wind on the highway hitchhiking, waiting for someone to stop and offer me a lift, perhaps to a town three miles down the road, perhaps to new friendship, perhaps to death.