Best 45 quotes in «umbrella quotes» category

The Umbrella Ion Bulbuk has bought an umbrella. “Knock-knock” – it is a neighbour at the door. “It is going to rain, Ion. Give me your umbrella, please.” “It is not in the house,” lied Bulbuk. It rains… Bulbuk is walking wet in the yard, for the neighbour to see that the umbrella is not at home. But the neighbour is not watching. He went in the village for his business.

The success is like an umbrella. It has wires in it called faith. It has no meaning if there is no rain and storm called ebbs and flows of life.

The road swerved left. The crash of waves morphed into the rumble of thunder, and the black asphalt tapered to become a slender stretch of rope. She followed it up into the darkness, night spilling around and below her as someone knocked over the ink-jar of the sky and scattered its liquid to the furthest corners, dislodging silver shards of moon that bounced off her umbrella.

The way most people use their minds is analogous to an ambulance that is used only as an umbrella.

They want you to use a black umbrella; use yellow, use red, use green and always refuse the thing they want you to use! Refusal is often more honourable than conformity!

Throw away that umbrella And feel the rain touch your skin! Feel my words Touch your body and soul!

Thought is a melody, Audrey thinks, while the body is an inert mechanism of cogs, springs, chains and ratchets...

Umbrella is comfort, rain is life! You must often leave comfort to touch the life!

Those who want to get wet need no umbrella!

To be remembered, umbrella waits for the rain!

Umbrellas raining upon me, as these cloudy tears give me shelter.

We have one thing in common with umbrellas: We both exist because the rain exists!

A joke was not a single-use item but something you brought out again and again until it fell apart in your hand like a cheap umbrella.

Yes. A language that will at last say what we have to say. For our words no longer correspond to the world. When things were whole, we felt confident that our words could express them. But little by little these things have broken apart, shattered, collapsed into chaos. And yet our words have remained the same. Hence, every time we try to speak of what we see, we speak falsely, distorting the very thing we are trying to represent. […] Consider a word that refers to a thing- “ umbrella”, for example. […] Not only is an umbrella a thing, it is a thing that performs a function. […] What happens when a thing no longer performs its function? […] the umbrella ceases to be an umbrella. It has changed into something else. The word, however, has remained the same. Therefore it can no longer express the thing.

Actors always loved props and-so instead of a hat or an umbrella, they feel really comfortable with a cigarette as a prop.

You've to close down your umbrella when you are under a canopy. Drop your pride; give praise to God!

I'm interested in people who have to overcome obstacles, people who are not sheltered by the umbrella of the establishment, marginals.

I have forgotten my umbrella.

I've actually found that most of my jobs have been in sci-fi. I realized it because sci-fi has the biggest fan following. Every time I do a play in London all these sci-fi fans come out. They ask me to sign things from all these little projects that I did. I hadn't even made the connection. It doesn't always have a spaceship and guns; sci-fi has been projected on in someway. I did Never Let Me Go, which is sort of Star Trek-y. It's about the future and training humans. It's sci-fi too. It's such a broad umbrella.

It ain't no use putting up your umbrella till it rains.

Mr. President, when it rains it pours, but most Americans hold their own umbrellas

Rain never understands why people hide under their umbrellas! Let us make a surprise to the rain by closing our umbrellas!

The batsman's technique was like an old lady poking her umbrella at a wasp's nest.

Who am I that I have to sing under an umbrella? These people are my fans, and if they can stand in the rain to hear me sing, I can stand in the rain.

I plan to send my liver somewhere in France, to protest foie gras (liver pate) ... I plan to have handbags made from my skin ... and an umbrella stand made from my seat.

My plan was to never get married. I was going to be an art monster instead. Women almost never become art monsters because art monsters only concern themselves with art, never mundane things. Nabokov didn't even fold his own umbrella. Vera licked his stamps for him.

What if I got hit by lightning while walking with an umbrella? Ban umbrellas! Fight the menace of lightning!

Who needs an umbrella in the rain?" she said, and stepped into the car.

An umbrella with many holes is better than no umbrella!

God is like an umbrella of illusion and belief, In rainy days we use him, in sunny days we forget him.

All sorts of darkness and evil are now hiding themselves under the umbrella of religion, Christianity, church etc.

Every seed wants to die in the soil! Every umbrella wants to live in a perpetually rainy world! Every mirror wants to see its own face in another mirror! Everything in this universe has dreams they wish to realise!

If it´s cold and cloudy outside, And you want to be a great fella, Make all your troubles go glide Opening a smile as your umbrella.

Holding up an oil-paper umbrella, I loiter aimlessly in the long, long And lonely rainy alley, I hope to encounter A lilac-like girl Nursing her resentment A lilac-like color she has A lilac-like fragrance, A lilac-like sadness, Melancholy in the rain, Sorrowful and uncertain; She loiters aimlessly in this lonely rainy alley Holding up an oil-paper umbrella Just like me And just like me Walks silently, Apathetic, sad and disconsolate Silently she moves closer Moves closer and casts A sigh-like glance She glides by Like a dream Hazy and confused like a dream As in a dream she glides past Like a lilac spray, This girl glides past beside me; She silently moves away, moves away Up to the broken-down bamboo fence, To the end of the rainy alley. In the rains sad song, Her color vanishes Her fragrance diffuses, Even her Sigh-like glance, Lilac-like discontent Vanish. Holding up an oil-paper umbrella, alone Aimlessly walking in the long, long And lonely rainy alley, I wish for A lilac-like girl Nursing her resentment glide by.

If you don't remember your umbrella even when it rains, you'll never remember it!

I thought a shit storm was coming, and I had no umbrella.

Monday is a sloppy umbrella day, which makes everybody a little blue. Cole, dropping by my office in the morning, wastes no time in blowing off steam. "You can TAKE this DAY and SHOVE IT where the SUN DOESN'T SHINE," he growled. "Too late. Somebody already DID THAT.

Old age is, it occurs to Busner as he lies stranded on his side staring at the clock radio, a form of institutionalisation -- it deprives you of your identity and supplies another, simpler one, it takes away your clothing and issues you with a uniform of slack-waisted trousers, threadbare jackets and moth-eaten cardigans, togs that are either coming from or going to charity shops. This done, it commits you to a realm at once confined and unbounded, an atrophying circuit of corridors that connect strip-lit and overheating rooms where you fade away your days reading day-old newspapers and specialist magazines -- albeit not ones relating to the specialty that awaits you.

Rain is simple, umbrella is simple; umbrella under rain is the magical meeting of these beautiful simples!

Rain is nature’s art; umbrella is man’s art. When you walk with your umbrella in a rainy day, you walk with a super art which is a combination of two different arts!

Rain with an umbrella while holding hands with your lover is damned sure nice.

If a negative viewer looks at you with an ugly fiendish eye, find a way and pluck off his eyes, or better still, protect your good image.

My people? Who are they? I went into the church where the congregation Worshiped my God. Were they my people? I felt no kinship to them as they knelt there. My people! Where are they? I went into the land where I was born, Where men spoke my language. I was a stranger there. “My people,” my soul cried. “Who are my people?” Last night in the rain I met an old man Who spoke a language I do not speak, Which marked him as one who does not know my God. With apologetic smile he offered me The shelter of his patched umbrella. I met his eyes...And then I knew...

Rain brings rain of umbrella!

She sheltered her colors in the dark, where others were blind to see; I caught a glimpse of her lastly when she gave me a chance, before disappearing into the day. There was beauty locked in her that unfolded like an umbrella's claw, her true self that desired compassion, trust, protection and the potential to soar. But I missed to late, that what I wasn't looking for, when she left her reasons in the rain.