Quotes About Wind

I don't like to thank God: I like to wake in the morning, look at the sea and thank the wind, the waves, the sky, the fragrance of plants, the life that allows me to exist, the sun that rises.

Light is thus nothing more than a rapid vibration of the spiderweb of Faraday's lines, which ripple like the surface of a lake as the wind blows. It isn't true that we "do not see" Faraday lines. To "see" is to perceive light, and light is the movement of the Faraday lines.

We begin our naming. The names drop into greens that tighten. Greens that deepen. The wind has begun its relentless thinking. Now the red veins in the small burrowed creatures begin their murmur. How the urgency of this red spurts inside us. Another eye wills itself open. Another eye roves.

I am reminded that love is timeless and regenerative. There is no beginning or end. All things are changing; nothing dies. And like the wind, love leaves its imprints everywhere.

Hush, hush, my bonnie sweet lamb. Tho' my ship must sail in the morning, I will be with you When the salt spray fans the shore, I will be with you When the wind blows the heather, I will be with you when the dove sings her song, Sing ba la loo laddie, sing ba la loo dear Hush, hush, my bonnie sweet lamb.

The longing for rain has become almost an obsession. We remember the gentle all-night rains that used to make a grateful music on the shingles close above our heads... But we waken to another day of wind and dust and hopes deferred, of attempts to use to the utmost every small resource, to care for the stock and poultry as well as we can with our scanty supplies, to keep our balance and to trust that upon some happier day our wage may even yet come in.

Memory a wind passing through the blood trees within us

Across the rectory's east lawn, through a blizzard of flying leaves, something long and thin was flapping in the wind. A ragged figure in a white nightgown hanging lifelessly from the trees.

By the Angel," Jace said, looking the demon up and down. "I knew Greater Demons were meant to be ugly, but no one ever warned me about the smell." Abbadon opened its mouth and hissed. Inside its mouth were two rows of jagged glass-sharp teeth. "I'm not sure about this wind and howling darkness business," Jace went on, "smells more like landfill to me. You sure you're not from Staten Island?

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out!"

The fells contract, regroup in starker forms; Dusk tightens on them, as the wind gets up And stretches hungrily: tensed at the nape, The coarse heath bristles like a living pelt. William Dunlop Landscape as Werewolf

There was an edge to this darkness.... A cold wind was blowing out of the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.

The wind pulled at his clothes like an insistent lover.

What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms . . . or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.

Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.

Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty. What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms ... or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.

A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.

Men are men, vows are words, and words are wind.

In the end words are just wind.

Some gave me soft words and some blunt, some made excuses, some promises, some only lied. In the end words are just wind.

It was bitingly cold up here, and the wind pulled at his clothes like an insistent lover.

Words are wind, but wind can fan a fire. My father and my uncle fought words with steel and flame. We shall fight words with words, and put out the fires before they start.

That night the wind was howling almost like a wolf and there were some real wolves off to the west giving it lessons.

Words are wind, and the only good wind is that which fills our sails.