Quotes About Wind

No matter how breathless the air when he dug his nest by tree or bank, the wind that later blew inevitably found him to leeward, sheltered and snug

He had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. 'That Might be our future in that box.' 'The future is ours to take, Jack we don't need anybody to give it to us.' Walker looked out through the windows at the lake. It was immense.

Greet the sky and live, blossom!... Yet even as the wind stirs your petals, flowers fall. My flowers are eternal, my songs live forever. I lift them in offering; I, a singer. I cast them to the wind, I spill them. The flowers become gold, they come to dwell inside the palace of eternity.

Wind will blow through any chink it can find, flow around any obstacle in its course. Follow the wind's example and let it guide you into those spaces.

Yet even as the wind stirs your petals, flowers fall. My flowers are eternal, my songs live forever. I lift them in offering; I, a singer. I cast them to the wind, I spill them. The flowers become gold, they come to dwell inside the palace of eternity.

If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees. —KAHLIL GIBRAN

La cometa es una niña de viento que desde el cielo le enseña a un niño a volar en los espacios del suelo.

I saw myself, sharply, as a wanderer, an adventurer, rocking through the world, unanchored. [...] The wind of my life was blowing me away. [...] I take the blue envelope...and tear it slowly into many pieces, watching them dance in the wind, watching the wind carry them away. Yet as I turn and begin walking toward the waiting people, the wind blows some of them back on me.

The morning weighs on my shoulders with the dreadful weight of hope and I take the blue envelope which Jacques has sent me and tear it slowly into many pieces, watching them dance in the wind, watching the wind carry them away. Yet as I turn and begin walking toward the waiting people, the wind blows some of them back on me.

I take the blue envelope which Jacques has sent me and tear it slowly into many pieces, watching them dance in the wind, watching the wind carry them away. Yet, as I turn and begin walking toward the waiting people, the wind blows some of them back on me.

The voice of him, who made the earth, whispereth in the winds; his breath is the movement of nature!

To understand the song of life, listen to the melody of wind and ocean and watch the dance of waves and water.

Lailah Gifty Akita

Wind has no home in the world, and therefore wanders everywhere.Light has no home in the universe, and therefore returns to God.

Wind has no feet, but travels great distances, and has no hands, but carries great objects.

When the wind blows, the weak are carried away by it, the strong resist it, and the wise manipulate it.

Sometimes a strong wind blows suddenly and you leave your beloved tree without saying even goodbye, like a pale autumn leaf! This uncertainty of life makes every moment in life infinitely precious.

The tallest Trees are most in the Power of the Winds, and Ambitious Men of the Blasts of Fortune.

Life is as the sea, art a ship in which man conquers life's crushing formlessness, reducing it to a course, a series of swells, tides and wind currents inscribed on a chart.

Even if you accept the theory of man-made climate change, wind turbines are a rotten way to reduce CO2 emissions, or to improve energy security.

They were evidently small men, all wind and quibbles, flinging out their chuffy grain to us with far less interest than a farm-wife feels as she scatters corn to her fowls.

I once ran across a list of nearly 400 winds from around the world and wondered why Wyoming, so dominated by wind, has so few names for its variations. . . . There's the wind, the damned wind, and the goddamned wind.

Only those in tune with nature seem to pick up on the energy in wind. All sorts of things get swept off in the breeze — ghosts, pieces of soul, voices unsung, thoughts repressed, love uncherished, and a thousands galore of spiritual ether.

And memories, he knew, were not glass treasures to be kept locked within a box. They were bright ribbons to be hung in the wind.