Quotes About Clouds

and now with horror and loathing they had seen the clouds gather once more in the quarter whence all superstition had had its birth.

over Japan, the

The old ladies were dressing up, she thought; the clouds draped around the mountains' shoulders like a dirty boa, with the snowcaps jutting above and the broad green bases below.

Miggy sees me watching the approaching wave of dark clouds. Maybe it will slow him down. The guy who's been outfitted by Survivalists R Us? No, he probably has some waterproof supersuit that repels lightning. I hate him so much.

A whole new kind of spiritual happiness dawns in us as we realize that dark clouds do not ruin sunny skies... they merely pass through them to help us remember our love of the light.

To ascend you must rise above, and I believe in the idea of keeping your "feet in the clouds and your head in the stars".

Del choque de las nubes resulta la electricidad del relámpago y del relámpago la luz.

El pasado ya no tenía formas ni el futuro nubes.

Misfortune is needed to bring light to the treasures of the human intellect. Compression is needed to explode gunpowder. Captivity has brought my mental facilities to a focus; and you are well aware that from the collision of clouds electricity is produced - from electricity, lightning, from lightning, illumination.

Look at those clouds, said Jamie, gazing up at the sky. Look at them. Yes, said Isabel. They're very beautiful, aren't they? Clouds are very beautiful and yet so often we fail to appreciate them properly. We should do that. We should look at them and think about how lucky we are to have them. Look at the shape of the clouds, she said. What do you see in those beautiful clouds, Jamie? I see you, he said.

but to the north there was a bank of cirro-cumulus, a mackerel sky, or Schaefchenwolken—"sheep cloud"—as she remembered her father calling it. For some reason he had used German when talking about clouds and sea conditions; an odd habit that she had accepted as just being one of the things he did. "The weather," he had once said to her, smiling, "is German. I don't know why; it just is. Sorry.

True love is night jasmine, a diamond in darkenss, the heartbeat no cardiologist has ever heard. It is the most common of miracles, fashioned of fleecy clouds, a handful of stars tossed into the night sky.

I wait on the origin of night's sounds waking. I know that here only the blind man sings, even in rain The notes of drenched violins rise like warped mirrors' and the last clouds part slowly, like a cracked wheel.

I thought to myself, not for the first time in this life, Everything is perfect; all those things that I always think are so bad really aren't bad at all. Then I noticed that out my window the clouds had parted, the clear night sky was suddenly visible, and the moon — a garish yellow disk against a dark wall — seemed to be looking at me funny.

Nuvens deslizam, depetaladas, e altas, altas, garças brancas planam.

May fell onto her back, watching the zipping stars, which tonight were covered lightly in clouds, and feeling the darkest despair.

Cold clouds of incense Hide the height of the sky, A burst of wind and everything opens. We understand. The drama is over, This is not the third autumn. This is death.

Love is something like the clouds that were in the sky, Before the sun came out. You cannot touch the clouds, you know but you feel the rain and know How glad the flowers and the thirsty earth are to have it after a hot day. You cannot touch love either, But you feel the sweetness that it pours into everything.

I'd like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around.

It was a grey day, that least fleshly of all weathers; a day of dreams and far hopes and clear visions. It was a day easily associated with those abstract truths and purities that dissolve in the sunshine or fade out in mocking laughter by the light of the moon. The trees and clouds were carved in classical severity; the sounds of the countryside had harmonized to a monotone, metallic as a trumpet, breathless as the Grecian urn.

Amory took to writing poetry on spring afternoons, in the gardens of the big estates near Princeton, while swans made effective atmosphere in the artificial pools, and slow clouds sailed harmoniously above the willow. May came too soon, and suddenly unable to bear walls, he wandered the campus at all hours through starlight and rain.

The rain was still falling, but the darkness had parted in the west, and there was a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea. "Look at that," she whispered, and then after a moment: "I'd like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around.

The afternoon waned from the purging good of three o'clock to the golden beauty of four. Afterward he walked through the dull ache of a setting sun when even the clouds seemed bleeding...

Revolution? Change? What I really want, with all my heart, is for the atonic clouds to stop greyly lathering the sky. What I want is to see the blue emerge, a truth that is clear and sure because it is nothing and wants nothing.