Best 1847 quotes in «rain quotes» category

You know, bud, I don’t know you from Adam, but that’s my baby sister you’re hanging on to. So I’m thinking the wisest course of action for you is to let her go and introduce yourself. Pronto. (Rain)

You know, it's no accident that the great painters came from areas like Europe where there is a lot of clouds and rain, which begets color and subtle washes of tone. Most great graphic artists come from areas with prevalent sun, where line and shadow are paramount.

You know it's funny, when it rains it pours they got money for wars, but can't feed the poor.

You know it is summer in Ireland when the rain gets warmer.

You'll drive yourself crazy if you start trying to pry the meaning out of every gust of wind or rain squall. I'm not denying that there might actually be a few signs that you won't want to miss. Knowing the difference is the tricky part.

You might be a redneck if... your high school basketball game got rained out.

You must know the story of how the race of ancient days reached the stars, and how they bargained away all the wild half of themselves to do so, so that they no longer cared for the taste of the pale wind, no for love or lust, nor to make new songs nor to sing old ones, nor for any of the other animal things they believed they had brought with them out of the rain forests al the bottom of time--though in fact, so my uncle told me, those things brought them

You never know: rain, sleet, hail, snow, See you gotta accept that's how things go. Prepare for the rainy day, or the sun's glow, But there's clouds movin' in and the clouds gonna blow.

You're in a rather odd mood today." I'm soaking wet, Eloise." No need to snap at me about it, I didn't force you to walk across town in the rain." It wasn't raining when I left,". There was something about a sibling that brought out the eight-year-old in a body. I'm sure the sky was gray," Clearly, she had a bit of the eight-year-old in her as well.

Your heart is like a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over its banks. All signposts that once stood on the ground are gone, inundated and carried away by that rush of water. And still the rain beats down on the surface of the river. Every time you see a flood like that on the news you tell yourself: That’s it. That’s my heart.

You say, 'The country is messed up.' That's like cursing the soil and the seed and the sunshine and the rain, which is all you've got. Don't curse all you've got. When you get your own planet, you can rearrange this whole deal. This one you've got to take like it comes.

You see my tears, in the rain underneath it all, we're just the same.

You should not see the desert simply as some faraway place of little rain. There are many forms of thirst.

You sleep with a dream of summer weather, wake to the thrum of rain—roped down by rain. Nothing out there but drop-heavy feathers of grass and rainy air. The plastic table on the terrace has shed three legs on its way to the garden fence. The mountains have had the sense to disappear. It's the Celtic temperament—wind, then torrents, then remorse. Glory rising like a curtain over distant water. Old stonehouse, having steered us through the dark, docks in a pool of shadow all its own. That widening crack in the gloom is like good luck. Luck, which neither you nor tomorrow can depend on.

You, sleeping on your bed of nails. Weeping an ocean beyond the pale. Strange, sorrow is your greatest skill. You're suffering from overkill... Choose whether to laugh or to cry. Menace and promise mingle in your eye. Wait, it's only a matter of time. You know everything will be fine... Rain falls down and the seas run high. When you're by my side we can rise above it. Let me dry all the tears inside. On your way you cannot hide from the howling wind and the roaring tide. You might get hurt but your fears will subside when you at last escape from the tears inside.

You want to do things that you watched when you grew up. I grew up on The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins and Singin' in the Rain. I watched those, over and over again, so of course, I want to do musicals.

You won't find one fish in a million that has enough sense to come in when it rains.

A light rain touches my cheek like an angel's butterfly kisses.

You will pass through storms and heavy rains, and at times you will suffer defeat. The essence of the creative life, however, is not to give up in the face of defeat but to follow the rainbow that exists within your heart.

A cold rain began to fall, and the blurred street-lamps looked ghastly in the dripping mist.

Aku pun menyadari ada hidupku yang bias.... Namun, hujan dan kamu adalah cinta!

You will say that everyone has seen landscapes and figures from childhood on. The question is: Has everybody also been reflexive as a child? Has everybody who has seen them also loved heath, fields, meadows, woods, and the snow and the rain and the s.

A brainstorm about the difference between rain and brain: a b, although both are juicy like water... but if it rained in the brain would that mean that ocurred a brainwash? and if so what would be the cure for that?? That's rough for sure. But if the rain plays mainly in the land would it land instead of fail to fall?? What's the meaning of it all? i'm a brainiac with some brainy thoughts..

Ah! Thou gifest me such hope and courage, and I haf nothing to gif back but a full heart and these empty hands," cried the Professor, quite overcome. Jo never, never would learn to be proper, for when he said that as they stood upon the steps, she just put both hands into his, whispering tenderly, "Not empty now," and, stooping down, kissed her Friedrich under the umbrella.

All morning it has been raining. In the language of the garden, this is happiness.

Allow your hearts to be driven by principle, not bias. Love, not hate. Unity, not division. The fire of your dreams, not the rain of your sorrows.

And sometimes you realize the value of the rain by knowing how unreliable and vanishing the rainbow is.

All this waiting. Waiting for the rain to stop. Waiting in traffic. Waiting for the bill. Waiting at the airport for an old friend. Waiting to depart. Then, there’s the big waiting: waiting to grow up. Waiting for love. Waiting to show your your parents that when you have kids you’ll be different. Waiting to retire. Waiting for death. Why do we think waiting is the antithesis of life when it is almost all of it?

Along the pavement-colored hall doors stood half open on either side, all the way down; each one was numbered in bright bald tin, each one stood just so much ajar in the gas-lit corridor. Just enough to reveal half-dressed men and women waiting for the rain or about to make love or already through loving and about to get drunk; or already half drunk and beginning to argue about how soon it was going to rain or whose turn it was to run down for whisky or whether it was time to make love again or forget it for once and just wait for rain.

And in the background of Early's story was her voice. Her soul. Her sadness and longing. Because when it's raining, it's always Billie Holiday. p. 81

And the drops of rain. They are delicate, at first, their splashes graceful against pavement. Soon, though, the soft patter grows into a furious storm.

And the rain drops kept falling like the sweetest music leaving tears on the glass, which is what music does to me most of the time but silence too. and rain.

A lot of people tell me that I fascinate them because of my sensitivity. But I tell my friends and admirers that sensitivity is all around us. And it rained today evening. The rain reminds us of everything sensitive, tender, and sublime.

And I don't care what age you are, kissing in the rain is the best.

And then I realize: this isn’t dirty water falling from the sky. It is—literally—blood. I look up, and a droplet of blood splashes directly into my eye. I curse, rubbing my face, trying to get the blood out, but it’s everywhere, it’s like trying to dry off in the middle of the ocean. Shielding my face as best I can, I stare up into the sky. I am in the center of a cyclone. Giant white clouds swirl like a spiraling galaxy above me, the eye a tiny dark speck. The storm rages, throwing out bloody rain like punches, the wind so vicious it tears my clothes and cuts my skin. Representative Belles’s mind is swirling with dark thoughts—bloody thoughts—and they have created the biggest storm I have ever seen. I have to stop the cyclone. I have to get him into a peaceful reverie, something that he can hold on to while I root around his brain, looking for answers. I focus all of my concentration on stopping the bloody rain. The drops come slower and slower. I take a deep breath, imagining the clouds breaking up, spinning into fluffy bits of cotton-candy like clouds. I don’t open my eyes until the sounds of beating rain disappear and I can feel the warmth of the Mediterranean sun on my face.

And when the earth began to rumble and quake, as fear and frantic set in, he ran back inside the house past his wife and children, gathering all the valuables and things he thought of importance, and ran back to his car packing away. After making two trips in and out, he waited in the car for his family to come out, in fear they darted through the darkness and pelting cold rain. When everything calmed down, and the house was intact and safe, he returned putting everything back in its place, had the kids go to bed, told his wife he loves her and turned off the light.

A person looked at me and said "I can't believe you eat ice cream when it's cold out" "I replied oh that's nothing I drink water also when it rains

A poor old Widow in her weeds Sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds; Not too shallow, and not too deep, And down came April -- drip -- drip -- drip. Up shone May, like gold, and soon Green as an arbour grew leafy June. And now all summer she sits and sews Where willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows, Teasle and pansy, meadowsweet, Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit; Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells; Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells; Like Oberon's meadows her garden is Drowsy from dawn to dusk with bees. Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs, And peeps at her garden with bright brown eyes; And all she has is all she needs -- A poor Old Widow in her weeds.

A person should always be willing to adjust for a rainy day. That was a good attitude in all of life, but was a reality to the way of life for those residing in Florida.

As a youth, I listened to the rain from the bowers of pleasure houses, Red silk drapes translucent in the glow of candlelight. In my prime, I listened to the rain as a traveler, The sky low, the river broad, the calls of the wild geese harsh and cold. Now, grey at the temples, I listen to the rain beneath the eaves of an abandoned cloister. Has mine been a futile life? I have no answers, only the sound of raindrops upon worn stone steps, And long hours yet to pass before the light of dawn.

A rain like melting pillows… a rain so beautiful I could never have let go of if not certain that someday...it would find its way into my poem.

A rain of feeling that we passed along the way, in the initial days. Do not easily forget what lies behind, but that moment you enter through that door and come to embrace me in the darkness, everything is made light, now for what we remember.

As an angler and a gardener, I cherish each drop of rain that falls.

A raindrop strikes the lawn, sending up a tiny plume of dust. Others follow, a barrage of dusty explosions bursting all around me. The leaves of the banyan tree rebound from their impact. The parrots disappear from sight. In the distance, the clouds seem to reach down to touch the earth. And then a curtain of water falls quietly and shatters across the city with a terrifying roar, drenching me instantly. I hear the hot concrete of the driveway hissing, turning rain back into steam, and I smell the dead grass that lies under the dirt of the lawn. I fill my mouth with water, gritty at first, then pure and clean, and roll into a ball with my face pressed against my knees, sucking on a hailstone, shivering as wet cloth sticks to my body. Heavy drops beat their beat on my back and I rock slowly, my thoughts silenced by the violence of the storm, gasping in the sudden, unexpected cold.

a rainy walk through leaves will cure almost anything

Are you telling me Kara Orris is afraid of rain?” Hunter’s grin twisted into a smirk as his eyes lit up, relishing his new discovery with absolute delight. “Why, that’s adorable!

A sense of hopelessness had invaded his bones, as chill and as inescapable as the rain.

As sure as the driven rain, the sun will shine again!

At last it was raining. Water was streaming through gaps in the window frames and trickling into our laps. “Smell it! Smell it! God, how wonderful! How beautiful!” we shouted over and over.

A sudden rain: reminding me once again that I'm not in control.