Quotes About Fog

There were clouds in the sky and far off toward the open water at the distant end of the bay was a hint of fog. Frank eyed the mist doubtfully. It would take some time to make a close search of the caves on the north shore, and if fog came up, a hunt would be difficult.

You boys picked a fine day to pay us a visit," he said with a laugh. "In a little while that fog will be so thick you can walk on it." The Hardys peered through the tinted panes of glass enclosing the control room. Already the ramp area immediately below was vanishing in a milky fog.

Light rain was falling, and a heavy prefrontal fog was beginning to move in as the Hardys arrived at the field. They walked to the tower and climbed the winding steps to the top. As they entered the control room, Lou Diamond, the tower chief, waved a greeting. A short, stocky, good-natured man, with crew-cut red hair, he nevertheless had an air of authority.

The boys continued their journey in the deepening darkness. Ahead, the road wound through isolated, hilly country. Here and there they encountered patches of light radiation fog, a phenomenon common to this type of terrain.

The spirit of L.A. is untamed wilderness. It's earthquakes and wildfires and oceans and mountain lions and fog. There's great physical beauty.

Skeptical of strangers, lobstermen are keepers of secrets, working in the howling wind and hot sun, the icy snows, and bewildering fog. When I was growing up, the lore was that they had the right to shoot anyone who messed with their traps.

Hasta que, para colmar el encanto, surgió del mar la luna: primero entre las nieblas del horizonte como una lúgubre máscara de fuego que asomara amenazadora para espiar en medio de un silencio espantoso sus dominios marítimos; luego volviéndose paulatinamente más clara, reduciéndose exactamente a un níveo fulgor que ensanchó el mar en un plateado pálpito sin fin.

Pero era un sueño. Estábamos envueltos en algodón, en hilos de seda, en telas de araña, en musgo, en niebla, en el mar, en el sabor de una distancia que ha de aniquilarse-

If you clenched your right hand in a fist, that would be my San Francisco, knocking on the Golden Gate. Your little finger would be sunny downtown on the bay, and your thumb would be our Ocean Beach out on the blue Pacific. They called it the Sunset...It sat on the very edge of the continent, with fog so dense and silver you hardly ever saw a sunset in the Sunset...

Standing on the deck of a San Francisco ferryboat, in a gray suit so precisely the same colour as the fog that he seems (as in a not particularly scary movie) to be a ghostly floating head

in a gray suit so precisely the same color as the fog that he seems (as in a not particularly scary movie) to be a ghostly floating head.

Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white moonshine. [...] Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.

Under the changes of weather it may look like marble or like sea water, black as slate in the fog, white as tufa in sunlight.

Because there was something to be said for going through life in a fog. In the fog, you couldn't see the monsters coming.

was fogged by their combined breath, the night seemed to grow colder and more mysterious, with only the brightest stars burning pinpricks in the aurora.

así voy yo, borracho melancólico, guitarrista lunático, poeta, y pobre hombre en sueños, siempre buscando a Dios entre la niebla.

Los Angeles has got its own distinct feel, and it's very contrary to the music that I write and the pictures I see in my head: no evergreens, no fog, no rain days.

Nothing could be lovelier than running across the Golden Gate Bridge in the middle of the fog.

There's a taint in the fog tonight," he announced. The Mouser said dryly, "I already smell dead fish, burnt fat, horse dung, tickly lint, Lankhmar sausage gone stale, cheap temple incense burnt by the ten-pound cake, rancid oil, moldy grain, slaves' barracks, embalmers' tanks crowded to the black brim, and the stink of a cathedral full of unwashed carters and trulls celebrating orgiastic rites—and now you tell me of a taint!

The Delhi winter is amazing.

It was midnight when I parked my car under Union Square. A wet wind blew across the almost deserted square, blowing fogged breath from the sea on the dark pavements. Flashing neons on all four sides repudiated the night.

opened the front door with my left hand, my gun cocked in my right. A little man leaned toward me, peering into the fog with intent dead eyes. I caught him before he fell out. I'd been feeling death in my bones for twenty-four hours.

I could smell fog even at this level now. It was rolling down from the mountains, flooding out the moon, as well as rising from the sea. The

Why not?" I said. "The night is young." I was lying. The night was old and chilly, with a slow heartbeat. The tires whined like starved cats on the fog-sprinkled black-top. The neons along the Strip glared with insomnia.