Quotes About Wind

We are the voices of the wandering wind, Which moan for rest and rest can never find; Lo! as the wind is so is mortal life, A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.

Our life is woven wind.

For there is a wind or a ghost of wind in all books echoing the life there, a high wind that fills the tubes of the ear until we think we hear a wind, actual.

On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, Reason the card, but passion is the gale; Nor God alone in the still calm we find, He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.

There's been rumors of war and wars that have been The meaning of life has been lost in the wind And some people thinkin' that the end is close by 'Stead of learnin' to live they are learnin' to die

And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd—"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

Around us even as its colorful weather moves us, Even as it pulls us into its dusty, twilit pockets. And every year there is a brief, startling moment When we pause in the middle of a long walk home and Suddenly feel something invisible and weightless Touching our shoulders, sweeping down from the air: It is the autumn wind pressing against our bodies; It is the changing light of fall falling on us. ""Fall

And every year there is a brief, startling moment When we pause in the middle of a long walk home and Suddenly feel something invisible and weightless Touching our shoulders, sweeping down from the air: It is the autumn wind pressing against our bodies; It is the changing light of fall falling on us.

The Past is a strange land, most strange. Wind blows not there, nor does rain fall: If they do, they cannot hurt at all.

Here where the wind is always north-northeastAnd children learn to walk on frozen toes.

Windmills put the wind to work. Similarly, you can set up an anger mill, which will put your an- ger to work, drawing the living waters of compas- sion and creativity from the depths of your heart to help all those around you.

In American mah jongg there are five different categories of tiles: Suit tiles, Dragon tiles, Wind tiles, Flower tiles, and Joker tiles—152 tiles in all.

Halloween shadows played upon the walls of the houses. In the sky the Halloween moon raced in and out of the clouds. The Halloween wind was blowing, not a blasting of wind but a right-sized swelling, falling, and gushing of wind. It was a lovely and exciting night, exactly the kind of night Halloween should be.

My return to Naples was like having a defective umbrella that suddenly closes over your head in a gust of wind.

Algún día que venga ya no me va a encontrar se topará nomas con el puro viento. Llegará ese día y cuando llegue, no habrá ni quien le dé una razón. Y pensará que todo a sido mentira.

Society will always be by your side. Society will let you die with no pity. Society is social suicide. Cold or hot in an untold wind, society folds the perfect creases to all four corners of a blanket we all lay under."

Where, as again Vaughan writes, the liberated soul ascends, looking at the sunset towards the west wind, and hearing secret harmonies.

The wind, one brilliant day, called to my soul with an odor of jasmine. "In return for the odor of my jasmine, I'd like all the odor of your roses." "I have no roses; all the flowers in my garden are dead." "Well then, I'll take the withered petals and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain." the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself: "What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?

At Ghent the wind rose. There was a smell of rain and a heavy drag Of wind in the hedges but not as the wind blows Over fresh water when the waves lag Foaming and the willows huddle and it will rain . . .

I'm cummin' round more'n'more to Your earliest=Levanthine pointa view, Dan, >that the world may well have originated less from a creative and far more from a destructive principle< ... - : aren't we ruled=t'day by a wind that produces great lethargy (&thirst)?...<

Reason is imprisoned here, and passions run wild. Like the fires of the prairie, once lighted, they are at the mercy of every wind, and must burn, till they have consumed all that is combustible within their remorseless grasp.

The silver trump of freedom had roused my soul to eternal wakefulness. Freedom now appeared, to disappear no more forever. It was heard in every sound, and seen in every thing. It was ever present to torment me with a sense of my wretched condition. I saw nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing without hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. It looked from every star, it smiled in every, calm, breathed in every wind, and moved in every storm.

Physical experience is the translation of phenomena into symbolic language, and the law is the creation of the wind or a symbol.

I know by my own experience how, from a stranger met by chance, there may come an irresistible appeal which overturns the habitual perspectives just as a gust of wind might tumble down the panels of a stage set - what had seemed near becomes infinitely remote and what had seemed distant seems to be close.