Quotes About Wind

Nul vent ne faict pour celuy qui n'a point de port destiné

I was seeing whispers and wind chimes — not solid wind chimes dangling, which would have been all right; I was seeing the sound of wind chimes, and don't ask me to describe it.

And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts. The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds. The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.

I cannot tell you now; When the wind's drive and whirl Blow me along no longer, And the wind's a whisper at last - Maybe I'll tell you then some other time.

Blowing,Blowing The gray slabs Will lose you the winds will flick you away In a whiff

SONG OF THE MAN WHO WAS TO BE HUNG The thunders will take me home, whenever I mind to go home, my friends, and the wind it will take me home, too.

The wind carves sand into shapes Endless the fresh designs, Wind and ice patient beyond telling. Ice can tip mountains over, Ice the giant beyond measure. And the sun governs valley lights, Transforms hats into shoes and back again Before we are through any long looking.

The dying sun will glow on you without burning, as it has done today. The wind will be soft and mellow and your hilltop will tremble. As you reach the end of your dance you will look at the sun, for you will never see it again in waking or in dreaming, and then your death will point to the south. To the vastness.

It's a story of love, of hatred, and of the dreams that live in the shadow of the wind.

That afternoon the sky was scattered with black clouds galloping in from the sea and clustering over the city. Flashes of lightening echoed on the horizon and a charged warm wind smelling of dust announced a powerful summer storm. When I reached the station I noticed the first few drops, shiny and heavy, like coins falling from heaven...Night seemed to fall suddenly, interrupted only by the lightning now bursting over the city, leaving a trail of noise and fury.

the end of 1935, news reached Monsieur Roquefort that a new novel by Julián Carax, The Shadow of the Wind, had been published by a small firm in Paris.

tomorrow. There's a Gone With the Wind museum here in the house.

HURRY, Nancy!" Hannah Gruen called anxiously. The Drews' housekeeper held the front door open as jagged lightning cut the sky. Nancy raced madly toward the door, her reddish-blond hair flying in the wind. "Made it!" she gasped, laughing, as great drops of rain pelted the driveway.

Seu cabelo é da cor do ouro. Pense como será maravilhoso quando você me cativar! O trigo, que também é dourado, me fará pensar de novo em você. E eu amarei ouvir o vento no trigal.

I stood checked for a moment - awe, not fear, fell upon me - and whist I stood, a solemn wind began to blow, the most mournful that ever ear heard. Mournful! That is saying nothing. It was a wind that had swept the fields of mortality for a hundred centuries.

The roof was a gymnasium for the winds

She felt powerless to withstand or deny him. He was altogether too much for her, and Bathsheba seemed as one who, facing a reviving wind, finds it to blow so strongly that it stops the breath.

In the middle of the porch was a vertical sun-dial, whose gnomon swayed loosely about when the wind blew, and cast its shadow hither and thither, as much as to say, 'Here's your fine model dial; here's any time for any man; I am an old dial; and shiftiness is the best policy.

A young woman's face will turn the north wind, Master Richard: my heart if 'twon't

To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.

Modern literature is a north-east wind--a blight of the human soul. I take credit to myself for having helped to make it so. The way to produce fine fruit is to blight the flower. You call this a paradox. Marry, so be it.

They walked, and the long waves rolled and murmured rhythmically beside them; the fresh salty wind blew free and unobstructed in their faces, wrapped itself around their ears, and made them feel slightly numb and deliciously dizzy. They walked along in that wide, peaceful, whispering hush of the sea that gives every sound, near or far, some mysterious importance.

los años ricos en acontecimientos transcurren con mayor lentitud que los años pobres, vacíos y carentes de peso, que el viento barre y que pasan volando. Lo