Best 1847 quotes in «rain quotes» category

People want to kill rain and truth... if you kill it what does it left??? A naked world, am I right?

Please stop shaking your rain water in my direction. What next? Are you going to come over here, cock your leg and urinate upon my person?

people who walk around in the rain naked don't get wet: they get washed

Prague, c'est beau, même sous la pluie.Les monuments se reflètent dans la Place de la Vieille Ville. La maison qui danse a l'air ivre.

Pour on, I will endure.

Rain, Aren’t you my soul’s joyful tears only longing for the sky to be happy?

Rainbow of happiness is the byproduct of your inner sunshine, after the rain of sorrows.

Raindrops and teardrops have two things in common. Both fall freely, and yield abundance. The former leads to abundant harvest and the latter, abundant mercy.

Rain is just like you, When it come, it gets cold.. When i remember, i feel blue

Rain falls on the just and the unjust alike.

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

Rain, rain falling down Down, down on the gound All the birds go in the trees They don't like the rain, you see.

Rain storms are destructive and renewing, I want to turn my bad days into rain storms.

Rain with no shoes is just as much fun as rain with big rubber galoshes.

Raindrops are nothing more than a lullaby for the restless soul.

Raining agen it wer nex morning. Theres rains and rains. This 1 wer coming down in a way as took the hart and hoap out of you there wer a kynd of brilyants in the grey it wer too hard it wer too else it made you feal like all the tracks in the worl wer out paths nor not a 1 to bring you back. Wel of coarse they are but it dont all ways feal that way. It wer that kynd of morning when peopl wernt jus falling in to what they done naturel they had to work ther selfs in to it. Seamt like a lot of tea got spilt at breakfas nor the talk wernt the userel hummeling and mummeling there wer some thing else in it. Like when you see litening behynt the clouds.

Rained gently last night, just enough to wash the town clean, and then today a clean crisp fat spring day, the air redolent, the kind of green minty succulent air you'd bottle if you could and snort greedily on bleak, wet January evenings when the streetlights hzzzt on at four in the afternoon and all existence seems hopeless and sad.

Rain filled the gutters and splashed knee-high off the sidewalk. Big cops in slickers that shone like gun barrels had a lot of fun carrying giggling girls across the bad places. The rain drummed hard on the roof of the car and the burbank top began to leak. A pool of water formed on the floorboards for me to keep my feet in. It was too early in the fall for that kind of rain.

‪Rain is not a seasonal change, it’s a feeling that brings back ‪Memories!

Rain in the Northwest is not the pounding, flashing performance enjoyed by the eastern part of the nation. Nor is it the festive annual soaking I'd been used to in Southern California. Rather, it's a seven-month drizzle that darkens the sky, mildews the bath towels, and propels those already prone to depression into the dim comforts of antihistamines and a flask.

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 is rain.

Rain, rain, go away, come back when I am marathoning anime.

Rain is sexy. I like rain. But the car will be cozy. I like cozy things more. And I like the things that make me cozy.

Rain is the purest of natural happenings.

Rain on your body burned my heart. (Pluie sur ton corps - Brûla mon coeur.)

Rain touching our hand becomes a little bit salty! Man touching wisdom becomes a little bit wiser! More touches take more from the touched!

Rats! It's rainy outside, And to be a good fella Invite a smile so wide Nobody needs umbrella!

Radar Data #12 It was in the absence of light as when near new moon and no moonlight; as when a part of a picture is in shadow (as opposed to a light); as when in the condition of being hidden from view, obscure, or unknown—in concealment, or else without knowledge as regards to some particular; and of the weather, season, air, sky, sea, etc., characterized by tempest; in times, events, circumstances etc. subject to tempers; inflamed, indicative, predictive, or symbolical of strife (harbinger of coming trouble)—a period of darkness occurring between one day & the next during which a place receives no light from the sun, and what if it is all behind us? I no longer fear the rain will never end, but doubt our ability to return to what lies passed. On the radar, a photopresent scraggle of interference, as if the data is trying to pretend something’s out there where everything is lost.

Remember: Rain doesn't need watering.

Scents were like rain, or birds. They left and came back.

Second hand bookshops are best visited alone and in the rain.

She awaits the rain like a writer embraces metaphors, A drizzle isn't for the child who dances in the storm. Of rain that washes away the petrichor it brings, A downpour of a hail of bullets, and she calls it spring.

She danced in the shower of my words & I fell softly: Upon her.

She gathered the books like clouds and words poured down like rain.

She had a beautiful laugh which was like rain water pouring over daffodils made from silver.

She isn't here, but around here, in a deep rain disappearing.

She inhaled again. 'You made it rain,' she said softly, delighted. 'Everyone needs a respite from the sun.

She lay outside in the courtyard, staring up at the raindrops… feeling them hit her body… trying to guess where one would land next. The nuns called again, threatening that pneumonia might make an insufferably headstrong child a lot less curious about nature.

She sat there alone after getting drenched enough by rain. In the silence of the midnight, Each drop that fell made a sound that was loud enough to wake all the memories inside her one after the other, before she could know what was happening she was lost somewhere in the past where the pictures in mind pushed her into a state of chaotic happiness and a blissful pain.

She leaves my side and heads deeper into the apartment singing, “—if the spirit tries to hide, its temple far away… a copper for those they ask, a diamond for those who stay.

She told me she was 17 going on 22, when she left home to find a new life in the city. She wanted to get into acting and be a big star someday. I said that was swell but a tough racket to break into. She said she knew that going in. She thought maybe she'd get a lucky break and go from there. I told her lucky breaks always came with a price.

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.

She was rain to a parched desert She was color to a gray sky She was the beautiful butterfly you longed to possess But I let her fly For fear of breaking her wings!

She was rain to a parched desert She was color to a gray sky She was the butterfly you longed to possess But I let her fly For fear of breaking her delicate wings!

Sitting on the porch alone, listening to them fixing supper, he felt again the indignation he had felt before, the sense of loss and the aloneness, the utter defenselessness that was each man's lot, sealed up in his bee cell from all the others in the world. But the smelling of boiling vegetables and pork reached him from the inside, the aloneness left him for a while. The warm moist smell promised other people lived and were preparing supper. He listened to the pouring and the thunder rumblings that sounded hollow like they were in a rainbarrel, shared the excitement and the coziness of the buzzing insects that had sought refuge on the porch, and now and then he slapped detachedly at the mosquitoes, making a sharp crack in the pouring buzzing silence. The porch sheltered him from all but the splashes of the drops that hit the floor and their spray touched him with a pleasant chill. And he was secure, because someewhere out beyond the wall of water humanity still existed, and was preparing supper.

SLEEPING ON A NIGHT OF AUTUMN RAIN It's cold this night in autumn's third month, Peacefully within, a lone old man. He lies down late, the lamp already gone out, And beautifully sleeps amid the sound of rain. The ash inside the vessel still warm from the fire, Its fragrance increases the warmth of quilt and covers. When dawn comes, clear and cold, he does not rise, The red frosted leaves cover the steps.

sleeping in the rain helps me forget things like I am going to die and you are going to die and the cats are going to die but it's still good to stretch out and know you have arms and feet and a head, hands, all the parts, even eyes to close once more, it really helps to know these things, to know your advantages and your limitations, but why do the cats have to die, I think that the world should be full of cats and full of rain, that's all, just cats and rain, rain and cats, very nice, good night.

Snap your finger stop the world - rain falls harder

...so even if spring continues to disappoint we can say at least the lettuce loved the rain.