Best 1847 quotes in «rain quotes» category

Her heart felt too full, a dry creek bed ill-prepared for such rain.

Her lips trembled, and so did his. It was never known which lips were the first to move towards the other lips; but they kissed tremblingly, and then they moved apart. The rain was dashing against the window-panes as if an angry spirit were within it, and behind it was the great swoop of the wind; it was one of those moments in which both the busy and the idle pause with a certain awe.

He sat beside the window in the dark, with his eyes closed. Hearing to the sound of the rain. The whisky in his glass burnt his throat, while the smoke of his cigarette filled his lungs and the fire inside his heart consumed his soul slowly.

He stood in rain and the storm, watching a demon with his face standing and laughing at him on a chariot run by drunk horses. The storm threw dust into his eyes, while the demon unleashed the horses one after the other at him.

He took me down and out into the afterlife of the brightly lit streets, a haze of rain around each streetlight like a galaxy, the whole street a universe spread out like a banquet.

He walks the soft grass, wet with fresh rain, jeans slung low on his hips and shirt hanging open, still dripping from the fevered maelstrom that set fire to the night sky. Fury in his step and passion furrowing his brow...He is my perfect storm...

His hands fell to my hips, and his fingers dug through my rain-drenched clothes.

His sadness was almost palpable, like moisture in the air before it rains. Although this was Manchester, it was probably about to rain anyway.

History doesn’t start with a tall building and a card with your name written on it, but jokes do. I think someone is taking us for suckers and is playing a mean game.

His voice was deep, like a storm coming, but gentle, like the rain ending.

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.

Hope It started out as snow, oh, big flakes floating softly, catching on my sweater, lacy on the edges of my sleeves. Snow covered the dust, softened the fences, soothe the parched lips of the land. And then it changed halfway between snow and rain, sleet, glazing the earth. Until at last it slipped into rain, light as mist. It was the kindest kind of rain that fell. Soft and then a little heavier, helping along what had already fallen into the hard-pan earth until it rained, steady as a good friend who walks beside you, not getting in your way, staying with you through a hard time. And because the rain came so patient and slow at first, and built up strength as the earth remembered how to yield, instead of washing off, the water slid in, into the dying ground and softened its stubborn pride, and eased it back toward life.

How boys transitioned from bothersome pests to men who made her pulse skip a beat and her head swim in a flood of pleasurable sensations was beyond her. Perhaps this was the true definition of magic.

How could I let a love go — one I’d been holding onto for so long — one that felt like home? It’s not easy to let go of the pieces, even though they’re the reason for my pain. I gripped them so hard that my blood fell like rain. But nothing, nothing could have prepared me for a new life with you — one I didn’t deserve, one I want to pursue.

Human beings say, "It never rains but it pours." This is not very apt, for it frequently does rain without pouring. The rabbits' proverb is better expressed. They say, "One cloud feels lonely": and indeed it is true that the sky will soon be overcast.

I flera hundra år hade hans förfäder sått säd. Det var en handling av andakt en tyst och mild, vindlös kväll, helst i ett litet beskedligt duggregn, helst så snart som möjligt efter det grågässen sträckt. Potatisen, det var en ny rotfrukt, det var inget mystiskt med den, inget religiöst, kvinnfolk och barn kunde vara med och sätta dessa jordpäron som kom från främmande land liksom kaffet, det var stor och präktig mat, men släkt med rovan. Säden, det var brödet. Säd eller icke säd, det var liv eller död. Isak gick barhuvad och sådde i Jesu namn. Han var som en vedkubb med händer på, men inom sig var han som ett barn. Han tänkte sig för vid varje kast, han var vänlig och undergiven. Se, nu gror nog dessa korn och blir ax och mera säd, och likadant är det över hela jorden när säd sås. I Palestina, i Amerika, i Gudbrandsdalen - å, vad världen var vid, och den lilla, lilla jordlapp som Isak gick och sådde låg i mitten av allt. Solfjädrar av säd strålade ut från hans hand. Himlen var mulen och blid, det såg ut att dra ihop sig till ett litet, litet duggregn.

If eyes are windows to the soul, then tears are heavens rain.

I am not anti rain,I am anti gravity.

I can’t help but ask, “Do you know where you are?” She turns to me with a foreboding glare. “Do you?

I could feel the tears streaming down my face—in some kind of frenzied competition with the rain. At first, I tried to brush the tears away, but I finally let them take their course, unabated.

If Noah waited for signs of rain to build an ark, he would have been swept away by the flood.

If people were rain, I was a drizzle and she was a hurricaine

if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane. aaa

If people were seasons, she'd be monsoon. After every downpour, the garden laughed like her, wild and free.

If I were standing right beside her, I probably would have heard her heart breaking. It would have sounded like the cracking of a wooden bat connecting with a baseball. No, that was too clean of a break. It would have sounded like rain from a powerful thunderstorm pounding on a tin roof. Millions of drops relentlessly pounding away on the surface until it shattered into billions of tiny pieces. Pieces Emily couldn’t put back together by herself.

If you speak, that is rain; if you speak too much, that is flood!

If wool shrinks when you wash it, why don't sheep get smaller when it rains?

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

If you can dance like raindrops, there will always be sunshine.

I have woken up…quite sloshed from night-mingled rains a little drugged, by mountain fogs I have been kidnapped for years....by a mere kiss.

I held your hand tightly in the rain Until I realized you had let me go-- I was holding on in vain, I was holding on in pain.

I heard raindrops in the night Pattering upon my eaves, Like a pleasing lullaby Easing me back to sleep, Which I thought was odd a bit, For I awoke because of it.

I hope you're not being unpatriotic, Lieutenant," Harker said. "Disliking rain is unpatriotic?" "It is in England.

I like to walk in the rain, because it makes me laugh when I walk under it. And not many things in this life can make you laugh just to be touched by it.

I lay awake listening to the rain, and at first it was as pleasant to my ear and my mind as it had long been desired; but before I fell asleep it had become a majestic and finally a terrible thing, instead of a sweet sound and symbol. It was accusing and trying me and passing judgment. Long I lay still under the sentence, listening to the rain, and then at last listening to words which seemed to be spoken by a ghostly double beside me. He was muttering: The all-night rain puts out summer like a torch. In the heavy, black rain falling straight from invisible, dark sky to invisible, dark earth the heat of summer is annihilated, the splendour is dead, the summer is gone. The midnight rain buries it away where it has buried all sound but its own. I am alone in the dark still night, and my ear listens to the rain piping in the gutters and roaring softly in the trees of the world. Even so will the rain fall darkly upon the grass over the grave when my ears can hear it no more… The summer is gone, and never can it return. There will never be any summer any more, and I am weary of everything… I am alone. The truth is that the rain falls for ever and I am melting into it. Black and monotonously sounding is the midnight and solitude of the rain. In a little while or in an age – for it is all one – I shall know the full truth of the words I used to love, I knew not why, in my days of nature, in the days before the rain: ‘Blessed are the dead that the rain rains on.

...I live in Ireland every day in a drizzly dream of a Dublin walk...

I long for sleep, and for soft English rain. But they do not come.

I lost my voice and my best friend too On swift, fierce winds and wings of blue, The cold rain fell where beams had shone, So I wrapped up tight and safe. Alone. But I missed my friend, I missed my voice, And my heart still whispered of another choice To break out of my binding, safe, and warm, And see what the world looked like after the storm. So I struggled free and was greeted by Colorful brushstrokes across the sky, The melody of the summer breeze And blue wings like mine in hazel trees. On the soft, sweet air of the mountain glade, We gathered together in cool, green shade, And told our stories, beginnings to ends, And found our song in the hearts of new friends.

I loved you unabashedly in the rain, you were real, raw, accustomed to pain. I loved you mostly in the rain, where you exposed your broken soul, unashamed, dancing despite it all.

I love the smell of rain and growing things.

I know your eyes in the morning sun I feel you touch me in the pouring rain And the moment that you wander far from me I wanna feel you in my arms again

...I lost my illusions in a black rain of bitterness - now what do you see in my eyes? How can you still love me? How can I be tender? ...

I love rainstorms...the thunder, lightning, wind, all of it. So much going on at once, so many emotions...just like me.

I love walking in the rain because no one can see me crying

I'm gonna love you Till the heavens Stop the rain. I'm gonna Love you Till the stars Fall from the sky For you and I

In between saying something and achieving it, there is some pothole to fill; that’s “doing it”. Goals are pursued with the word “GO” and visions with the word “VENTURE”. You can’t be living always in the promise of the cloud; it must rain now!

I miss it if I’m not in it for any length of time; I don’t feel comfortable. I want trees and I want frequent rain.

I’m walking out in the rain again Pains the same as it’s always been Lungs full of smoke from my cigarette And my heart breaks with every step, But only a little bit Walking away from myself, not getting far Wondering if it’s you I see in each passing car

I need you like a blossom needs rain, like the winter ground needs spring-to soothe my parched soul.

I steal one glance over my shoulder as soon as we are far from the foreboding luminance of the neon glow, and it is there that my stomach leaps into my throat. Squatting just shy of the light and partially concealed by the shade of an alley is a sinister silhouette beneath a crimson cowl, beaming a demonic smile which spans from cheek to swollen cheek.