Quotes About Weather

In the space of a few minutes the sky turned black and it began to rain.

Horas non numero nisi serenas.

But she looks at me with this total incomprehension, like she's watching footage of the world being blown up, and I'm the little blurb on the corner of the screen saying what the weather is like outside.

I'm mad at global warming for all the obvious reasons, but mostly I'm mad at it for ruining Christmas. This time of year is supposed to be about teeth-chattering, cold weather that necessitates coats, scarves, and mittens. Outside there should be see-your-breath air that offers the promise of sidewalks covered in snow, while inside, families drink hot chocolate by a roaring fire, huddled close together with their pets to keep warm.

Probably they prefer we don't see them, but they want us to know what's happening with the weather because fear debilitates. Maybe they want us frightened, cowering, and pliable.

A few thousand years of weather will eventually reduce a city to its component elements and fields of rubble, though its more restive citizens are likely to get the job done faster.

The undulant road winds across hills, down into hollows where mist slithers through the darkness like a procession of spirits proceeding toward their fate. The mountains, worn low by millennia of weather, offer no steep palisades, only rolling slopes that suggest that the landscape was inspired by the female form.

We parked under a strange sky with a faint image of a quarter-moon superimposed on it. There was a little woods beside us. This day had been dry out and hot, the buck pines and what-all simmering patientyl, but as we sat there smoking cigarettes it started to get very cold. The summer's over, I said.

the downpour raked the asphalt and gurgled in the ruts.

the gusts of snow twisted themselves around our heads while the night fell.

under Midwestern clouds like great grey brains

The sun was beginning to fade, though, and the air - slightly chilled as it slid through the trees - carried with it just the barest hint of rain.

Why couldn't they love the place, same way, together, the way he always loved her, even with his sore? Love Helen like a wife in good and bad weather, in sickness and in health, its beauty in being poor? The way the leaves loved her, not like a pink leaflet printed with slogans of black people fighting war?

The ladies were confined to the house by a storm of snow and sleet.

I estimated the ambient humidity at roughly a thousand percent, but tipped a little of my sweetened coffee into the saucer and blew on it nonetheless.

It was a hot summer—there wasn't any other kind in Boston

Grey was still in his shirtsleeves; the rain had cut through the cloth to his flesh.

the wispy clouds of the morning had been knitting themselves up into a low sky the color of dirty wool

It's always hot in Australia.

There is one thing I do miss in L.A. I love autumn.

A foggy day in London TownHad me low and had me down.I viewed the morning with alarm.The British Museum had lost its charm.

The snow is snowing and the wind is blowing But I can weather the storm! What do I care how much it may storm? For I've got my love to keep me warm

Finito il turno Arturo torna a casa, alle volte un po' dopo e alle volte un po' prima che suoni la sveglia della moglie, Elide. Lei, stirandosi con "una specie di dolcezza pigra", gli mette le braccia al collo, e dal suo giaccone capisce il tempo che fa fuori.

Cold has a thousand ways of moving in the world: on the sea it gallops like a troop of horses, on the countryside it falls like a swarm of locusts, in the cities like a knife-blade it slashes the streets and penetrates the chinks of unheated houses.