Best 268 quotes in «fog quotes» category

The fog is a chest, a magical chest! What wonders are hidden in it, the only way to see them is to dive into the fog!

The dense fog manifests ever-living gravestones, the tunes of decadence, the hearts that were doomed to dance alone. Here lies untouched beauty, a brittle dream, an unseen sea-born nightmare, an isolated acheirous harf, fishbones without flesh, a face without letters, the hypnotic power o Apollonian destruction. Ashes kiss the grapefruit essential oil skin, the soul beats with eaten sons and daughters, soaking wet serpents with cuspid tongues lollop for legendary goddesses.

The night was white-blind with fog, and Kate staggered over every stone and stumbled in every puddle, but she pushed on as fast as she could.

The fog tore apart, light charged the sea like blue neon.

The sound of diesel fuel rushing through grimy pistons and cylinders below a morning-fogged window bored through his ears like a deep-water drill bit, and the thump of his own heartbeat cursed him for breaking one of his many rules.

The view of the highway was so bad that you could not even see the next viaduct. Te moment it loomed out of the mist it disappeared again, as if the world created itself and was blotted out again.

The fog eventually clears itself.

THE MIST They fell asleep and dreamed a fog. They had words but not meaning. And with the mist, there came a fear. The mist grew thicker. A whispered voice from the Great Beyond. Love will heal the people. It washed away the scent of shame. No one said, “It should not be so.” There was silence. What is it? A strange feeling. Foreign at first but now familiar. We do not have to hide. The crystal light extends out. Pulsing with aliveness. The memory of pain passes. What were we so afraid of?

The smog curled between the streetlamps and the spokes of the wrought iron framework. It seemed through your body and into your bones.

This investigation felt difficult, like driving in fog.

To the short-sighted, through the fog, God must be a monster.

To find truth, one must traverse a dense fog

To feel free, create a fog around yourself! And how can you do this? Be silent! When you are silent, people will not notice you much! You will be invisible, you will be inside the fog!

When fog invades the plains, everything disappears; everything but fog! When love invades the minds, everything disappears; everything but love!

When fog and walk come together, you get the opportunity to meet the nothingness! And such a meeting immediately increases your desire to meet the existence! Darkness makes you love the light and nothingness, the existence!

While they rested, he searched for landmarks. The mountains they’d walked into were gone, a hazy gray ceiling of storm clouds in their place. It gave him the unsettling feeling of being caught inside a box. Ash turned and looked back the other direction. His attention caught on the forked top of a pine tree and he frowned. What the hell…? That looks like the same tree we passed fifteen minutes ago. It felt for a moment like he was in a poorly designed game and had just come across a repeating landscape. His gaze dropped down to the path where they’d just passed. His stomach churned uneasily. The trail was a faded smudge, the line of it almost too faint to follow in the gathering darkness, but there was a small outcrop of rocks in the trees that also looked familiar. His attention jumped back to the pronged top of the branches. “What the…?

Why would they follow me?” I asked Swedish. “It doesn’t make sense.” “They’re made of trash and Fog,” he said. “You think they make sense?

Age is a state of old mind. It gets to a point where if you get old enough, you forget how old you are, and that's the best thing. And then you walk around kind of like in a fog.

You can walk in a dream while you are awake: Just walk in the misty morning of a forest!

When I was lost in the fog, it was as though nothing else existed. And, afterwards, it seemed incomprehensible that I had ever really thought like that. Self-recrimination inevitably followed.

A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight!

About midnight the fog shut down again denser than before. One could almost "stand on it." It continued so for a number of days, the wind increasing to a gale. The waves rose high, but I had a good ship. Still, in the dismal fog I felt myself drifting into loneliness, an insect on the straw in the midst of the elements.

All action takes place, so to speak, in a kind of twilight, which like a fog or moonlight, often tends to make things seem grotesque and larger than they really are.

Although the French were very friendly and helpful. On one location we were to film at the top of the Eiffel Tower but we couldn't, as it was so misty with four inches of snow on the ground. We couldn't see a thing but we finally got it done.

A low line of shore was visible at first on the right between the movement of the waves and fog, but when we came further it was lost sight of, and nothing could be seen but the mist curling in the rigging, and a small circle of foam.

Ah, Ivy, thought Alexia happily, spreading a verbal fog wherever she goes.

And I needed a rock. Something to hold onto, to stand on. Something solid. Because everything was going soft, turning into mush, into marsh, into fog. Fog closing in on all sides. I didn't know where I was at all.

An investigator starts research in a new field with faith, a foggy idea, and a few wild experiments. Eventually the interplay of negative and positive results guides the work. By the time the research is completed, he or she knows how it should have been started and conducted.

As time goes on, I realize more and more that, beginning in the early 30's, David Smith began setting the precedent for what was to come later for many of us.

An insular country, subject to fogs, and with a powerful middle class, requires grave statesmen.

Before Turner there was no fog in London.

Also, as I lay there thinking of my vision, I could see it all again and feel the meaning with a part of me like a strange power glowing in my body; but when the part of me that talks would try to make words for the meaning, it would be like fog and get away from me.

At the core, our motives are always self-serving, Kate. Altruism is a fog created by sly minds seeking to benefit from the energy and skill of others. Nothing more.

But though every created thing is, in this sense, a mystery, the word mystery cannot be applied to moral truth, any more than obscurity can be applied to light. ... Mystery is the antagonist of truth. It is a fog of human invention, that obscures truth, and represents it in distortion. Truth never envelops itself in mystery, and the mystery in which it is at any time enveloped is the work of its antagonist, and never of itself.

But you can catch yourself entertaining habitually certain ideas and setting others aside; and that, I think, is where our personal destinies are largely decided.

Belgarath and Garion effortlessly hurdled over the driftwood and loped off into the fog. "It's going to be a wet day," Garion noted soundlessly as he ran alongside the great silver wolf. "Your fur won't melt." "I know, but my paws get cold when they're wet." "I'll have Durnik make you some little booties." "That would be absolutely ridiculous, Grandfather," Garion said indignantly.

Business is never as healthy as when, like a chicken, it must do a certain amount of scratching for what it gets.

Eileen Ford wanted me to fix my nose and my teeth. I said, Sure, great, but I really had no intention to.

Call your opinions your creed, and you will change it every week.

Ever notice how irons have a setting for permanent press? I don't get it.

Exploratory research is really like working in a fog. You don't know where you're going. You're just groping. Then people learn about it afterwards and think how straightforward it was.

Faith is like radar that sees through the fog.

Feathered with hoarfrost, skeletal trees loom closer; fog shrouded arches.

Finding oneself and one's path is like waking up on a foggy day. Be patient, and presently the fog will clear and that which has always been there can be seen. The path is already there to follow

Fog and hypocrisy - that is to say, shadow, convention, decency - these were the very things that lent to London its poetry and romance.

Fog everywhere. Fog up the river where it flows among green airs and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city.... Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.

Fog rolled in like a form of sorrow. To live exiled from a place you have known intimately is to experience sensory deprivation. A wide-awake coma. ... The sea was a memory bank into which everything fell and was lost. I dove in but came out empty-handed.

For me, the key image is the boat coming through the fog at the beginning. It's something I imagined and liked and I guess there are other references in other films I make - the similar type of image. But I think it's interesting, it's breaking through the mystery, or maybe it stays in the fog... we don't really know. Where is he at the beginning of the film, who is he?

For two years living in a neutral country I have been able to see through the haze of propaganda to reach something which my conscience tells me is the truth.

Have you lost your hope? Have you remained inside the fog? Don't worry; even if you can't find it, a new hope will come and find you!