Quotes About Fog

The gulls swept over Dover. They sailed out like flakes of the fog, and tacked back towards the hidden town, while the siren mourned with them: other ships replied, a whole wake lifted up their voices—for whose death?

Fog obscured the distant towers of Manhattan, allowing only pale silhouettes of the World Trade Center to rise above gray and white opacity.

In his gaze, rooms of the dead; halls of loss; fog- emerald; driven, dirty-rice snow: he was in there somewhere, I looked for him, and he gave me the gift, he let me in, knowing he would never once, in this world or in any other, have to do it again, and I saw him, not as he really was, I was still without the strength of anger, but I saw him see me, even now that dropping down into trust's affection in his gaze, and I held it, some seconds, quiet, and I said, Good-bye, and he said Good-bye

I recognize the fog in the air, the shining of her dark hair that curls around a finger like a night wood shaving, I know her thrill and fear of being observed

Helplessness was a strange experience, new to her; she had never found it hard to face things and make decisions; but she was not dealing with things—this was a fog without shapes or definitions, in which something kept forming and shifting before it could be seen...

puts the situation in a totally different light. We can see a reality that is superseded by his limited perception—a reality that is as critical for us to understand in our daily lives as it was for the captain in the fog. Principles are like lighthouses. They are natural laws that cannot be broken. As Cecil B. DeMille observed of the principles contained in his monumental movie, The Ten Commandments, "It is impossible

. . . We love fog because it shifts old anomalies into the elements surrounding them. It gives relief from a way of seeing

I would wear a full-length cape if I could get away with it - I do love a good swirl in a fog.

I love eulogies. They are the most moving kind of speech because they attempt to pluck meaning from the fog, and on short order, when the emotions are still ragged and raw and susceptible to leaps.

force them to discover with as much difficulty as possible exactly what they have done to disappoint you; and, finally, let them grope around blindly in the fog that you have generated around yourself until they stumble into and injure themselves on the sharp hidden edges of your unrevealed preferences and dreams.

Sobre los campos, a ambos lados de la carretera, se derramaba la niebla como si fuera plomo derretido, simulando el mar y la inmensidad. Por eso, las sombrereras, las personas, las conversaciones y el coche de punto resultaban tan insustanciales y ridículos. Llegué a creer que en verdad a ambos lados se encontraba el mar y me sorprendió su calma.

A keen wind from the west struck our faces, and as swiftly as it had come the fog rolled away from us, in one mighty mass, stripping clean and pure the starry dome of heaven...

Morning. Vast. Imprecision. Fog has covered everything in gray absolute. This has lasted. Doubt looms over the mind. Absence is harder to accept than death.

Night is an element of love; like fog. It liberates space, lets freshness cross it. Its magic elevates the body, brings to the surface the mystery of just being alive, being. With or without stars and galaxies, the sky becomes a private territory—the imagination's own scope. These are moments when one reaches all there is between the moon and oneself. — Etel Adnan, Etel Adnan: on Love and the Cost We Are Not Willing to Pay Today (Hatje Cantz Verlag GmbH & Co KG, 2011)

It wasn't the fog I minded, Cathleen. I really love fog. [...] It hides you from the world and the world from you. You feel that everything has changed, and nothing is what it seemed to be. No one can find or touch you any more.

Like a saint's vision of beatitude. Like the veil of things as they seem drawn back by an unseen hand. For a second you see—and seeing the secret, are the secret. For a second there is meaning! Then the hand lets the veil fall and you are alone, lost in the fog again, and you stumble on toward nowhere, for no good reason!

Nicedir sisin içinde yürüyorum. Dü?üncelerimin bu yola girmi? olmas? bo?una de?il. Sis demek, biliyorum, doru?a yakla?makta olmak demek.

When I came to New York and I opened the window of the thirty-fifth-floor apartment, there's light pollution and fog, and I couldn't see my star. So I drew it on my wrist with a pen, but it kept washing away. Then I went to a tattoo parlor on Second Avenue and had it done.

The purpose of writing is to inflate weak ideas, obscure pure reasoning, and inhibit clarity. With a little practice, writing can be an intimidating and impenetrable fog!

The day is wound up and begins even before the last haunted dreams, the last of the fog, those spectral and evanescent residues, have faded away.

Night is brushed aside like so much cobweb. The day is wound up and begins even before the last haunted dreams, the last of the fog, those spectral and evanescent residues, have faded away.

In the midst of a foggy field, the answers are hidden But the impossible journey deems them forbidden. The Reaper of Death, the Angel of Life. They walk together in day and night.

London and Fog! When these two come together, it is time to be a writer!

Take a perfect day add six hours of rain and fog and you have instant London.