Quotes About Storm

There is a peace that springs soon after sorrow, Of hope surrendered, not of hope fulfilled; A peace that does not look upon tomorrow, But calmly on the storm that it has stilled. A peace that lives not now in joy's excesses, Nor in the happy life of love secure; But in the unerring strength the heart possesses, Of conflicts won while learning to endure.

the music is not in conditions, not in the things, not in externals, but the music of life is in your own soul. If peace be in the heart, The wildest winter storm is full of solemn beauty, The midnight flash but shows the path of duty, Each living creature tells some new and joyous story, The very trees and stones all catch a ray of glory, If peace be in the heart. CHARLES FRANCIS RICHARDSON

No one is complete until he has been out into the surge of the storm and has found the glorious fulfillment of the prayer "O God, take me, break me, make me.

The beauties of nature come after the storm. The rugged beauty of the mountain is born in a storm, and the heroes of life are the storm-swept and battle-scarred.

The grandeur of each mountain peak That rears to heaven its granite form; The craggy cliffs where eagles shriek Amid the thunder and the storm.

The pair of them were again in the eye of a storm of misery - their world was a storm of misery and they were caught in its center, in the deceptive stillness that had allowed them to forget, once upon a time, that all around them was a stinging whirl of hatred that would catch them - it was everywhere and everything and they'd been fools to think they could leave their small safe place and not be caught in that vortex like every other living creature in Eretz.

Even after all these years, the thought of Isagol the Terrible stirred such a storm in him- of rancor and longing, desire and disgust, violence and even affection- all of it seething and bleeding and writhing, like a pit of rats eating one another alive.

What mortal is there, over whose first joys and happiness does not break some storm, dispelling with its icy breath his fanciful illusions, and shattering his altar?

The birds swoop nearer. They are gulls. Why, then, We must be close to the ocean! Indeed, The sounds of your music come clearly, Composing themselves in the air. It was written, I think, that I'd find you Against some sort of crazy crashing backdrop That could go on forever, being an awful bore, Then change into a storm. But the birds atilt, Hung in the sky like little notes ranging, the birds Atilt have no connection with music.

When he faced her again, he had never looked to her so much like one of the Fair Folk. His eyes were full of feral amusement, a carelessness that spoke of a world where there was no human Law. He seemed to bring the wildness of Faerie into the room with him: a cold, sweet magic that was nevertheless a bitter at the roots. The storm calls you as it calls me, does it not? He held out a hand to her, half-beckoning, half-offering. "Why lie?" he said.

I watched webs of lightning crackle in the dark air, framed by their black-cloud background, touching down on the rim forty or fifty miles to the east. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it blew through again.

was grateful, because the world looked beautiful in that big storm, and because I knew that somewhere in the world there was somebody who didn't have a can of hot soup, and I did.

A great wind is blowing and that either gives you imagination...or a headache.

A great wind is blowing, and that gives you either imagination or a headache.

The storm ate up September's cry of despair, delighted at its mischief, as all storms are.

Be adored among men, God, three-numberéd form; Wring thy rebel, dogged in den, Man's malice, with wrecking and storm. Beyond saying sweet, past telling of tongue, Thou art lightning and love, I found it, a winter and warm; Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then.

Into the snows she sweeps, Hurling the haven behind, The Deutschland, on Sunday; and so the sky keeps, For the infinite air is unkind, And the sea flint-flake, black-backed in the regular blow, Sitting Eastnortheast, in cursed quarter, the wind; Wiry and white-fiery and whirlwind-swivelled snow Spins to the wido-making unchilding unfathering deeps. (from "The Wreck of the Deutschland, Part the Second")

A sharp moon was fighting with the flying rags and tatters of a storm, and Valentin regarded it with a wistfulness unusual in such scientific natures as his.

He penned a letter to the Company in London, a letter whose unfailing spirit would become legendary among the sailors of the East India Company. 'I cannot tell where you should looke for me.' he wrote, 'because I live at the devotion of the winds and seas.' (Written by/about Captain James Lancaster, on the ship Red Dragon, during a terrible storm, 1603)

TEMPORALE Un bubbolìo lontano... Rosseggia l'orizzonte, come affocato, a mare: nero di pece, a monte, stracci di nubi chiare: tra il nero un casolare: un'ala di gabbiano.

IL LAMPO E cielo e terra si mostrò qual era: la terra ansante, livida, in sussulto; il cielo ingombro, tragico, disfatto: bianca bianca nel tacito tumulto una casa apparì sparì d'un tratto; come un occhio, che, largo, esterrefatto, s'aprì si chiuse, nella notte nera.

È, quella infinita tempesta, Finita in un rivo canoro. Dei fulmini fragili restano Cirri di porpora e d'oro.

NOTTE Dl VENTO Allora sentii che non c'era, che non ci sarebbe mai più... La tenebra vidi più nera, più lugubre udii la bufera... uuh... uuuh... uuuh.. Venia come un volo di spetri, gridando ad ogni émpito più: un fragile squillo di vetri seguiva quelli ululi tetri... uuh... uuuh... uuuh.. Oh! solo nell'ombra che porta quei gridi... (chi passa laggiù?) Ohl solo nell'ombra già morta per sempre... (chi batte alla porta?) uuh... uuuh... uuuh...

The Malavoglia huddled together, clinging to the rail, hardly daring to breathe because when the sea roars no-one dares answer.