Quotes About Wind

I managed to find a spot where we had the wind from astern, a steep head sea on our starboard quarter and the tide race through the narrows at the same time. A few hours of that and our fierce horse soldiers were like little lambs—sick little lambs.

Maybe the wind will get up again," he added hopefully. "Maybe," Jesper replied. He sounded a lot less hopeful about it. "I've found in the past that when you're in a jam and you really need something to happen, it usually doesn't.

Wisdom sails with wind and time.

Oh what a nothing is our life!--namely, a span, a dream, a wind, a shadow, a vapour, a post, swifter than a post (Job 7:6).

the wind has a purpose - to rattle the window panes, disturb the cat and make me miss you ...

I recall that day on the beach - the sand so brilliant, the clouds so massive, and the wind punishing your hair...

not even the wind can bring a tear to my eye the way you do...

strands of your hair and tendrils of the wind spin into nothingness the memories of that day...

we went to watch the waves that bitter day and the wind took your red cap and mittens - blew them into the sea...

the wind hums low with sweet exultation, sings its lullaby, while you sleep ...

snow gently settles like dust in a shaft - for one moment there is no one else - only the wind like the hiss of an ice skate ...

Deb and I were married on a snowy night - wind cross-wove a veil of snow for her then threw confetti at us as we left the lighted church...

Wind of the night, Questing, swaying, calling, Rustle of dull grasses, Why do you trouble me?

You could hear the wind in the leaves, and on that wind traveled the screams of the kids on the playground in the distance, little kids figuring out how to be alive, how to navigate a world that wasn't made for them by navigating a playground that was.

Grinder's Whispering in the Wind.

An ill wind that bloweth no man to good.

you know the way of the wind in the night—the desolate alleys my soul takes

fingers of wind combed the lake into ridges—icy palm prints glistened wherever it rested

Mi escritura era muy apretada, como nerviosa. Las palabras discurrían en líneas titubeantes. como un campo de trigo recorrido por un soplo de viento.

Beyond a mortal man impassion'd farAt these voluptuous accents, he arose,Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing starSeen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose;Into her dream he melted, as the rose,Blendeth its odour with the violet,—Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blowsLike Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleetAgainst the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may findThee sitting careless on a granary floor,Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,Drows'd with the fume of poppies while thy hookSpares the next swath and all its twined flowers.

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.

A wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels

Hear the wind and you will know the wind. Wind blows, and the generations are its leaves. There was no higher praise than what was said of Confucius: He knows where the wind comes from.