Quotes About Storm

During the great storm the lightning strikes multiplied in frequency and ferocity. It seemed like a new kind of lightning, not just electrical but eschatological.

His eyes are a hazy swirl ofgray, like a thick mass of clouds gathering before an impending storm

In order to realize the worth of the anchor we need to feel the stress of the storm.

Economic storm is coming and the stress levels are going to increase because of financial worries.

the cries had ceased, and the tempest continued to rage.

But excessive grief is like a storm at sea, where the frail bark is tossed from the depths to the top of the wave. Dantès recoiled from the idea of so infamous a death, and passed suddenly from despair to an ardent desire for life and liberty.

A vida é uma tempestade (...) Um dia você está tomando sol e no dia seguinte o mar te lança contra as rochas. O que faz de você um homem é o que você faz quando a tempestade vem.

I started to feel as though I were disappearing. Perhaps I myself was figment of my own imagination, a storm cloud, a wisp of smoke, a burning ember.

there was a storm of enormous proportions, with winds so strong that dozens of fish were drawn up from the reedy shallows, then lifted above the village in a shining cloud of scales.

THE WOMEN FROM THE congregation might appear delicate and ladylike, but on this island strength was a necessity. Most of these women could climb onto a roof before a storm to make certain that the shutters at every window were bolted shut, they could cook over an outdoor fire, kill chickens and wild waterfowl, do what they must should the tolerance of our people fade in yet another country.

And then the thrashing of the wind against the house and then what might have been a volley of pistol shots, and then a sound like something slowly spilling from a great height. Jacob pulled his knees up into his arms and whimpered. Annie, dramatically, put her arms around her father's neck. "There went the tree," he said.

With her silence alone she held off, for a moment longer, the suggestion that the worst was over, the tree had fallen, the storm was passing, and time, as she was given to saying, was marching on: school tomorrow, work for their father, laundry, shopping, meals. For just a moment more, she let them linger.

Now, as the labor began, it was the storm she recalled. The thrash of wind and trees and the quiet terror that had kept her flat in her bed, wide awake, anticipating disaster but unable to rise to avert it—or to shake her husband, to call for help. There was only silence now, in the small living room. There

Their father took his hand from his shoulder. The wind rattled the windows, careful now. "Listen to that," their mother said. "It's really picking up." Above the pines, the sky had turned a deeper blue. In another minute, there would be rain. "We just might feel the brunt of this hurricane after all," their father said.

what?—the sky growing black, the wind moaning, the scrim of sand that blew across the empty lot forming itself into tooth and mouth and open jaw. "What are you afraid of?" More derisively than he'd meant it.

the lightning would come and, a few moments later, the thunder. -Susie Salmon, The Lovely Bones

Giff waited out the storm, admiring — and certainly not for the first time — Hugo's gift for shredding a man's character thoroughly and at length without pausing even once to think of the right word.

To top things off nicely, it began to lightning in the east, stitching up the pit-black sky like a drunk seamstress with bright yellow thread.

Out of life's storm I carried only a few ideas - and not one feeling.

The life of great geniuses is nothing but a sublime storm.

But, my dear, if you should be caught out in the storm!" "Why, I don't know but I should like it! What harm could it do? I'm not soluble in water - rain won't melt me away! I think upon the whole I rather prefer being caught in the storm," said Cap, perversely.

Madness is not for everyone, but Maurice's proved the thunderbolt that dispels the clouds. The storm had been working up not for three days as he supposed, but for six years. It had brewed in the insecurities of being where no eye pierces, his surroundings had thickened it. It had burst and he had not died. The brilliancy of day was around him, he stood upon the mountain range that overshadows youth, he saw.

Lightning streaks like gunfire through the clouds, volleys of thunder shake the air.

But just the same, she dared not allow her mind to look up, for she sensed that the tattered images of her dreams were still hung high on the masts of her consciousness like the ragged remainders of sails flapping after a storm.