Quotes About Fog

Something like lust, something like hatred, seems to hover in the air along the country roads, shifting like mist or steam, but always there, gripping the city streets like fog, making every corner a dangerous corner.

Quinnipeague in August was a lush green place where inchworms dangled from trees whose leaves were so full that the eaten parts were barely missed. Mornings meant 'thick o' fog' that caught on rooftops and dripped, blurring weathered gray shingles while barely muting the deep pink of rosa rugosa or the hydrangea's blue. Wood smoke filled the air on rainy days, pine sap on sunny ones, and wafting through it all was the briny smell of the sea.

June would always be Charlotte's favorite month on Quinnipeague. She loved the frothy roil of the sea as it recovered from a day of rain, and in those early mornings, before the fog lifted and sun warmed the island, there was nothing, nothing better than a wood fire, wool socks, and hot chocolate made from scratch.

Even though the story takes place in the past, it feels very much like the present or the near future. It feels like something incipient, imminent, pervasive. Like a fog so cold it's a thousand needles in your skin, just barely breaking the surface.

The First Meeting And all the time it was God near her that was making her unhappy. For as the Son of Man came not to send peace on the earth but a sword, so the first visit of God to the human soul is generally in a cloud of fear and doubt, rising from the soul itself at His approach. The sun is the cloud dispeller, yet often he must look through a fog if he would visit the earth at all.

Bruges had the air of a ghost town. The high towers, the trees along the canals withdrew, absorbed by the same muslin: impenetrable fog with not a single rift. Even the carillon seemed to have to escape, to force its way out of a prison yard filled with cotton wool to be free in the air, to reach the gables over which, every quarter of an hour, the bells poured, like falling leaves, a melancholy autumn of music.

There was soot and orphans everywhere, and gaslit cobbled streets full of fog and sinister gentlemen out for a night of illicit murder. It was a strict and unforgiving society; looking at a piano, eating too much butter, dancing with elan--the sour-faced Queen Victoria forbade all these things. And, it was also raining in the London of themdays--dirty grey slabs of rain that left everywhere shining and slippery.

Le brouillard est ici un présage redouté mais l'éclair épelle la bonté universelle et durant les orages les parents suspendent aux arbres leurs enfants emmaillotés.

Jim said he believed it was spirits, but I says: no, spirits wouldn't say dern the dern fog.

If you think it ain't dismal and lonesome out in a fog that way, by yourself, in the night, you try it once – you'll see.

There was a dense fog in my brain,impenetrable to any coherent thought,except the dull obsession of counting the minutes - an aching state of semi concsiousness and numb idiocy.

It seemed natural; natural to the moment's peculiar reality that was sharply clear, but cut off from everything, immediate, but disconnected, like a bright island in a wall of fog, the heightened, unquestioning reality one feels when one is drunk.

I would tell you about the rest of the night, but I honestly don't remember much about it. It's all a very sad daze.

All weather is sin-related. Lust causes thunder, anger causes fog, and you don't want to know what causes dew.

In the morning, fog. As it slowly lifted, the expedition set off.

Something in the fog! he screamed, and Billy shrank against me-whether because of the man's bloody nose or what he was saying, I don't know. Something in the fog took John Lee! Something- He staggered back against a display of lawn food stacked by the window and sat down there.Something in the fog took John Lee and I heard him screaming!

Know that tomorrow will bring clarity where before was only fog. In the final summation, it is not other's expectations that slay us, but our over compensatory reactions in regard

Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality.

By seven o'clock even the long corridor was as dim as the alley outside. No one thought of shutting the windows - I doubt whether they will shut...and the fog rolled over the sill in banks and round the open glass doors, till even the white cap of a Sister could hardly be seen as she passed.

We may reason on to our heart's content, the fog won't lift.

Night is an abyss at the edge of a footstep, raining anvils in a mercury-retrograde imagination needing chemicals. Fog is a curtain of anticipation. When lifted our way is lit by stars on a high dose of infinity.

But I like the fog because it slows things up. Things are too damn fast to suit me. I like 'em slow. Like they used to be a century ago.

who differ are so far in the wrong; like a man traveling in foggy weather, those at some distance before him on the road he sees wrapped up in the fog, as well as those behind him, and also the people in the fields on each side, but near him all appears clear, tho' in truth he is as much in the fog as any of them.

You don't want to be too hot in the club. And ambience is important - no fog machines.