Quotes About Wind

And finally Winter, with its bitin', whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.

I spent most of my youth in Montana, where there are long, cold winters, but Maine has the coldest winters you could imagine. Not only are they long, not only does it snow, but it gets really damp. It's a wet cold with a lot of wind.

Electricity, the peril the wind sings to in the wires on a gray day.

Within the renewables space, we are focused on solar and wind energy.

Es mediodía. El viento duerme, cargado de su propia fragancia, en el jardín.

A soft gust of wind swooped at them under the hornbeam branches, setting the shadows flurrying, and when it died into the grass, Randal laid Bevis' body down, with a stunned emptiness inside him as though something of himself had gone too.

And here in Britain the wind moaned through the desolate woods, the skies wept, and wet gale-blown leaves pattered against the windows and stuck there, making little pathetic shadows against the steamy glass. There had been wild weather often enough in his own country, but that had been the wild weather of home; here was the wind and and rain and wet leaves of exile.

The wind blustered in from the sea, setting the horses' manes streaming sideways, and the gulls wheeled mewing against the blue-and-grey tumble of the sky; and Aquila, riding a little aside from the rest as usual, caught for a moment from the wind and the gulls and the wet sand and the living, leaping power of the young red mare under him, something of the joy of simply being alive that he had taken for granted in the old days.

It was midnight when I parked my car under Union Square. A wet wind blew across the almost deserted square, blowing fogged breath from the sea on the dark pavements. Flashing neons on all four sides repudiated the night.

Always have the strength to live. Love life, and if despair enters your heart, look for me in the evenings when the wind is gentle and the owls sing in the hills, I shall be with you-

Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

I feel drawn to little temples on lonely hilltops. With the mist swirling round them, and the wind humming in the stunted pines, they absorb some of the magic and mystery of their surroundings and transmit it to the questing pilgrim.

The sunlight, penetrating the gaps in the tall trees, plays chess on the gravestones, shifting slowly and thoughtfully across the worn old stones. The wind, like a hundred violins, plays perpetually in the topmost branches of the deodars.

Perhaps the wind is made up of ghosts. Perhaps this wind contains the ghosts of all the people who have lived, died and want to come in again from the cold.

There were no lions any more. There had been lions once. Sometimes in the shimmer of the heat on the plains the motion of their running still flickered on the dry wind — tawny, great, and quickly gone. Sometimes the honey-colored moon shivered to the silence of a ghost-roar on the rising air.

Friendship is dead:They were friends who go with the wind,And the wind was blowing at my door.

GREEN APPLES In August we carried the old horsehair mattress To the back porch And slept with our children in a row. The wind came up the mountain into the orchard Telling me something: Saying something urgent. I was happy. The green apples fell on the sloping roof And rattled down. The wind was shaking me all night long; Shaking me in my sleep Like a definition of love, Saying, this is the moment, Here, now.

If someone asks about the mind of this monk, say it is no more than a passage of wind in the vast sky.

The plants and flowers I raised about my hut I now surrender To the will Of the wind

Ey da?lar?n dertlerini dinleyen rüzgar! Benim art?k yaln?z sana itimad?m var.

Amplified by the still of night, the book opened -- a gust of wind.

it's doors I'm afraid of because I can't see through them, its the door opening by itself in the wind I'm afraid of.

A hot wind was blowing around my head, the strands of my hair lifting and swirling in it, like ink spilled in water.