Quotes About Storm

Scott Fitzgerald was mortally afraid of lightning.

Then the light changed the water, until all about them the woods in the rising wind seemed to grow taller and blow inward together and suddenly turn dark. The rain struck heavily. A huge tail seemed to lash through the air and the river broke in a wound of silver.

Up home we loved a good storm coming, we'd fly outdoors and run up and down to meet it," her mother used to say. "We children would run as fast as we could go along the top of that mountain when the wind was blowing, holding our arms right open. The wilder it blew the better we liked it.

have, myself, full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made, we shall prove ourselves once again able to defend our Island home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone. Winston Churchill, House of Commons, 4 June 1940

When excited by any violent passion his face assumed a … terrible expression … his eyes flashed fire; his nostrils dilated, swollen with the inner storm … He seemed to be able to control at will these explosions, which, by the way, as time went on, became less and less frequent. His head remained cool … When in good humour, or when anxious to please, his expression was sweet and caressing, and his face was lighted up by a most beautiful smile.38

Sera put the back of her hand against her forehead. "I screamed in vengeful woe for my fallen comrade, summoning a storm of ice to tear into the dragon's scales. It

The dragon reared her head, breathing in the storm and loving every minute of it. It was the start of a voyage, and a storm at the beginning of a voyage was always a good omen.

Words like anchors, tethering boats of memory that would otherwise be settled by the storm.

the storm hit the back of the house. The roof was torn off instantly, and the walls smashed in. The whole building was ripped out of the ground and folded over onto itself. Josh saw the open doorway close around his mother like a mouth, swallowing her out of sight, and then the whole building was blown apart into pieces and snatched away on the wind.

The eternal silence of the great white desert. Cloudy columns of snow drift advancing from the south, pale yellow wraiths, heralding the coming storm, blotting out one by one the sharp-cut lines of the land.

I can hear your whisper and distant mutter. I can smell your damp on the breeze and in the sky I see the halo of your violence. Storm I know you are coming.

Give me the storm and tempest of thought and action, rather than the dead calm of ignorance and faith! Banish me from Eden when you will; but first let me eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge!

I admit that reason is a small and feeble flame, a flickering torch by stumblers carried in the star-less night, -- blown and flared by passion's storm, -- and yet, it is the only light. Extinguish that, and nought remains.

but somehow, with the wind and rain whipping around them, an air of the confessional had descended upon the house.

For You have been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shade from the heat. – Isaiah 25:4

And when this emperor had come to the desert," it read, "with his camels and chariots, with his army of soldiers and slaves, the sand itself arose in a great storm, blinding their eyes.

The storm to end all storms is coming," he had said, "and the only question is going to be who wields the lightning and the thunder." Oppenheimer had always been prone to such melodramatic language. "It has to be us.

I—I don't know what possessed me to tell the story tonight. I do believe the storm has crept into my head and disarranged all my thinking.

If he had wanted to impose a monarchy upon America, Hamilton said, he would follow the classic path of a populist demagogue: "I would mount the hobbyhorse of popularity, I would cry out usurpation, danger to liberty etc. etc. I would endeavour to prostrate the national government, raise a ferment, and then ride in the whirlwind and direct the storm.

Five minutes to three in the afternoon. Exactly sixty-one hours before it happened. The lawyer drove in and parked in the empty lot. There was an inch of new snow on the ground, so he spent a minute fumbling in the foot well until his overshoes were secure. Then he got out and turned his collar up and walked to the visitors' entrance. There was a bitter wind out of the north. It was thick with fat lazy flakes. There was a storm sixty miles away. The radio had been full of it. The

To an underground room, no doubt. It was closed, but like all storm doors it would open outward. So the wind could never blow it in.

The drink was a storm cloud with coffee thundering around inside it.

In pale blue fog, a far, white sailboat Through mist and sea, sails all alone What lures him to distant countries? What drives him out, so far from home? The waves are mad, the wind is whistling Mast, creaking, moans without cease Alas, not happiness it's seeking And not from happiness it flees Beneath, the azure current flows Above, the golden sunlight streaks But restlessly, it prays for storms As if in storms it may find peace

Bears, dragons, tempestuous on mountain and river, Startle the forest and make the heights tremble. Clouds darken beneath the darkness of rain, streams pale with a pallor of mist. The gods of Thunder and Lightning Shatter the whole range