Quotes About Wind

A star shoots bleeding across the skyline, a companion to the black wind. Silence comes sweeping across everything.

An immense body, encircling my delirium, a body made of wind and sunlight, crouching and stretching, encompassed the existence of the slightest human echo.

The wind surged, and a burst of rain, barely a dozen drops, struck the blacktop ahead of me, producing the smell that is one of the finest odors in the world, the fragrance of hot asphalt in a summer shower.

lifted her gaze to the last telephone pole on the street. A mass of black balloons were caught there, snarled in the lines. The wind was wrestling to wrench them free, and they bobbled and weaved, pulling hard to escape. The wires held the balloons implacably where they were. She recoiled at the sight of them. They were dreadful – somehow they were dreadful – a dead spot in the sky.

The snow wasn't deep - in many places its crust was firm enough that they actually walked on top of it - but the wind was surgical, a precision instrument with needles for teeth, and it found even the tiniest exposed places on her skin, attacking them.

Resentment, anger, and fear all were gone. Only sadness remained. She gathered her collar against the wind and returned to her car in the waning light of the November day.

the shadow person', the light breath of wind caused by the simultaneous presence and absence of a person who had never died nor entirely departed, just faded into melancholy abstraction.

Miércoles, 24 de abril Una parte del vapor alto ha caído en forma de rocío. El viento del Nordeste sopla con fuerza, el contorno superior de todas las franjas nubosas se disuelve en configuraciones flameantes, incluso salen de ellas columnas aisladas, igual que el humo que sale de la comida, pero que en lo alto volvían a colocarse en estratos, como si trataran de volver a adoptar su estado anterior.

My life is light, waiting for the death wind, Like a feather on the back of my hand.

Everyday life is a stimulating mixture of order and haphazardry. The sun rises and sets on schedule but the wind bloweth where it listeth.

Passions are the gales of life.

Above us, the wind blew and the branching shadows rearranged themselves on our skin. Gus squeezed my hand. "It is a good life, Hazel Grace.

For the breath of life is in the sunlight and the hand of life is in the wind.

Man's wants remain unsatisfied till death. Then, when his soul is naked, is he one With the man in the wind, and the west moon, With the harmonious thunder of the sun

Especially when the October wind With frosty fingers punishes my hair, Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire And cast a shadow crab upon the land, By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds, Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks, My busy heart who shudders as she talks Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.

And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

I have since become a salt-water man, but sometimes in summer there are days when the restlessness of the tides and the fearful cold of the sea water and the incessant wind that blows across the afternoon and into the evening make me wish for the placidity of a lake in the woods.

A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.

honey." Anne sighed, leaned back against his shoulder. Well out on the mesa, Grimes pulled up at a tinaja whose slow ooze of water filled a small rocky basin just enough for the grass that covered the thin soil for a few yards about the basin. He spread out the Navajo rug, and Anne snuggled beside him, in the lee of the boulder that sheltered them from the cool wind.

Il vento le scompigliava i capelli, il sole li glorificava.

acknowledged that Maurice had once lifted him out of aestheticism into the sun and wind of love.

Gray clouds were charging across tissues of white, which stretched and shredded and tore slowly, until through their final layers there gleamed a hint of the disappearing blue. Summer was retreating. The wind roared, the trees groaned, yet the noise seemed insufficient for those vast operations in heaven. The weather was breaking up, breaking, broken, and it is a sense of the fit rather than of the supernatural that equips such crises with the salvos of angelic artillery.

A sailor at war with the wind and the sea.

Ah, I could lay me down in this long grass And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind Blow over me