Best 1847 quotes in «rain quotes» category

This is what fun is like," said Rain, almost to herself.

Those who want rain, must also accept the mud.

Though a lifetime of listening to the music of the world has passed, even now the tone of the rain on the roof of my home is the sweetest sound I have ever heard.

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

Thunder erupted over head as I watched him go. I felt the rain start to hit my head, getting me soaked in an instant. Before he went into his house, he turned back one more time and looked at me with those sad eyes. “Looks like you have your storm.” And then he was gone, leaving me standing out in the rain.

Thursday afternoon, the dark clouds closed in, and by Friday morning a heavy rain was falling. The mountain peaks were hazy sentinels, disappearing into misty fog that clung to the valley.

Time falls on us, like rain, it falls like rain until we drown in it, and sometimes, it's like the drains overflow, and time just - pools up, it seeps, it gathers in the corners.

Time itself is a thing, so it seems to me, that stands solidly like a fence of iron palings with its endless row of years; and we flow past like Gyoll, on our way to a sea from which we shall return only as rain.

Tis not what you crave that feeds your soul... Tis my sunshine right after the rain When my ravishing rays unfold.

To be remembered, umbrella waits for the rain!

Tonight shall be the very beginning.' 'Was it?' 'It shall be. For me.' 'My beginning was the albatrosses.' 'That is a good beginning; I am glad it is yours. Tonight shall be mine.' 'Ought we to have different ones?' 'Different beginnings? I think we must.' 'Will there be more of them?' 'A great many more. Are your eyes closed?' 'Yes. Are yours?' 'Yes. Though it's so dark it hardly makes a difference.' 'I feel—more than myself.' 'I feel—as though a new chamber of my heart has opened.' 'Listen.' 'What is it?' 'The rain.

Trekking means a travelling experience with a thrilling excitement.

To them, as to Magnus, time was like rain, glittering as it fell, changing the world, but something that could also be taken for granted.

Towards these weeks of rain I give effusive praise. Let me always be reminded that there is time for change.

True leaders are like statues, whether it rains or it shines, they never bend their necks to look backwards! They never run away from challenges!

Under the glass porte-cochère of a theatre Amory stood, watching the first great drops of rain splatter down and flatten to dark stains on the sidewalk. The air became grey and opalescent; a solitary light suddenly outlined a window over the way; then another light; then a hundred more danced and glimmered into vision. Under his feet a thick, iron-studded skylight turned yellow; in the street the lamps of the taxicabs sent out glistening sheens along the already black pavement. The unwelcome November rain had perversely stolen the day’s last hour and pawned it with that ancient fence, the night.

Under the bridge, traffic above us and coats around us, hearts thudding with the steady perfection of this moment, I thought of every word I had never before dared to think about him. Future. Hope. And love, as the rain slowed to a misty trickle through the long and beautiful night.

Truth falls from the heavens like rain, gently carving many channels in the earth. Your truth may be different from my own, yet both are still true.

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

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

WebMD calls it a stage of grief - anger. But I doubt I'll ever get to the other stages. This one slices me into millions of pieces. Every time I'm whole and back to normal, something happens to tear me apart, and I'm forced to start all over again. The rain lets up. The devil stops beating his wife, but I beat the dashboard, punching it over and over, numb to the pain of it. I wanna be numb to the pain of all this.

We all look for opportunities in the form of an ideal state of affairs; the perfect weather for picnic, enough time to call a friend, or a good offer to sell the house. The truth is, you have the power to create the state of affairs that you call opportunities.

Wait for the rain, not the clouds.

Water begins to boil in the kettle; it starts as a private, secluded sound, pure as rain, and grows to a steady, solipsistic bubbling.

Water is sagacious because it carries inside of itself the bottomless profundity of oceans, the cosmic looks of the clouds, subtle wits of the rivers, the inquisitive character of the rains and the silent meditation of the little lakes!

We both disliked rude rickshwalas, shepu bhaji in any form, group photographs at weddings, lizards, tea that has gone cold, the habit of taking newspaper to the toilet, kissing a boy who'd just smoked a cigarette et cetra. Another list. The things we loved: strong coffee, Matisse, Rumi, summer rain, bathing together, Tom Hanks, rice pancakes, Cafe Sunrise, black-and-white photographs, the first quiet moments after you wake up in the morning.

Well, I learned to cook. At my age," she told him. "What's next? Art therapy? Anyway, I've had quite a time of it this summer, and who knows what eases down on any road. Come, Rain. A quick goodbye, and off you go." "Goodbye," said Rain to the Lion, and then to the woman. "Not to them," said Glinda, "To me." She turned eyes that were saucerly upon Glinda. "Mum?

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

Well you know what they say. It’s always raining somewhere.

We were once indigenous enough to drink the rain.

We stepped carefully, so softly, over thorny plants. The dust had turned to mud, splattering our shoes, socks, and legs. By the time we reached the boat, our clothes were clinging to our flesh and stained with the bloody remains of mosquitoes.

We were running all over the front lawn and under the rainspouts, barefooted, in our underpants, with the rain pelting down, straight cold gray rain of Delta summers, wonderful rain. -Mexico

What an ambiance, and such a pity I'm alone: Candles giving off their glow, gusts of wind and the light tapping of rain on the windowpane - a massage for the mind. And a comforting one, too.

What's a rainy day without some delicious coffee-flavoured loneliness?

Whatever happens during rainy time, you don't need to wish it to stop just you to be protected because some people needs that. Instead, go for a place where you can consider as your refuge.

What's the difference between rain and grain? Only a g, though they both grow in the land, and they don't land but fall. What a difference a g makes!

What are you staring at?" "Rain drops on window glass is a sort of love-bite, is it not?

What the mud had been doing with itself, or where it came from, who could say? But it seemed to collect in a moment, as a crowd will, and in five minutes to have splashed all the sons and daughters of Adam.

When God opens the windows of heaven for rain to flow, those who will enjoy are those who sow! Don't misuse the blessings of God... Get a seed today to grow!

When I could hold my eyes open long enough, I did stare up at the rain pelting down on me. I’ve never looked at it like that, straight up into the sky, and while I flinched more than I could actually see, when I could see it was absolutely beautiful. Like each drop rocketing towards me was separate from the thousands of others and for a suspended moment in time, I could glimpse it and see its delicate facets. I saw the gray clouds churning above me and felt the car shake when the wind from the traffic pushed against it. I shivered even though it’s warm enough to swim. But nothing I saw or felt or heard was as warm and fascinating as Andrew’s closeness.

When it rains it pours and when it shines you get melanoma.

When it rains on the ocean it rains on fish too.

When I wake, it seems a little less hot than usual, so I’m worried I have a fever until light flashes behind the curtains and the sound of a detonation rolls in with a force that makes the windows rattle. As I step outside with a plastic bag over my cast, a stiff breeze pulls my hair away from my face, and I see the pregnant clouds of the monsoon hanging low over the city. The rains have finally decided to come. I sit down on the lawn, resting my back against the wall of the house, and light an aitch I’ve waited a long time to smoke. Suddenly the air is still and the trees are silent, and I can hear laughter from my neighbor’s servant quarters. A bicycle bell sounds in the street, reminding me of the green Sohrab I had as a child. Then the wind returns, bringing the smell of wet soil and a pair of orange parrots that swoop down to take shelter in the lower branches of the banyan tree, where they glow in the shadows.

When I see you plodding along through the rain in dull, drab mackintoshes, with your noses tucked into your collars, I long to offer you a little advice. It is this: fight the weather with contrasts ... You must create an artificial sun to replace the one who has hidden himself. So why not a brighter note in your dress instead of the eternal grey, black, brown or navy?

When I was young, I thought it is thunder that kills people. But when I learnt physics in the high school, I discovered that it is rather the lightning that does the killing. The voice of the thunder itself is just a noise. The lightning is the poise!

When it rains, the world softens around the edges; streets and sidewalks become a liquid mirror onto which lights and colors bleed. When it rains, everything becomes beautiful . . . for a while.

When the heart gets hurt, It always rains.

When you left you left behind a field of silent flowers under a sky full of unstirred clouds...you left a million butterflies mid-silky flutters You left like midnight rain against my dreaming ears Oh and how you left leaving my coffee scentless and my couch comfortless leaving upon my fingers the melting snow of you you left behind a calendar full of empty days and seasons full of aimless wanders leaving me alone with an armful of sunsets your reflection behind in every puddle your whispers upon every curtain your fragrance inside every petal you left your echoes in between the silence of my eyes Oh and how you left leaving my sands footless and my shores songless leaving me with windows full of moistened moonlight nights and nights of only a half-warmed soul and when you left... you left behind a lifetime of moments untouched the light of a million stars unshed and when you left you somehow left my poem...unfinished. (Published in Taj Mahal Review Vol.11 Number 1 June 2012)

When the rain finally abates, I decide to wait out the night instead of trying to climb in the dark.

When the rain is on my lips And I shiver from the cold Thinking about life Its ups and downs And being a melancholic I take a note Of the nature's crying its tears Making the day seem gray And unexcited But how much life the rain brings To what is hidden beneath the surface So whenever I cry And the cold of people's words Or actions Causing me shiver I vision myself standing in the rain Bringing my roots to life I am not afraid anymore Of getting soaking wet I stand my ground! But please nature Don't let me drown, make me beautiful!