Best 2116 quotes in «wind quotes» category

The plants and flowers I raised about my hut I now surrender To the will Of the wind

The pools had been written onto the fields by the rain. The pools were a magic worked by the rain, just as the tumbling of the black birds against the grey was a spell that the sky was working and the motion of grey-brown grasses was a spell that the wind made. Everything had meaning.

There are always waves on the water. Sometimes they are big, sometimes they are small, and sometimes they are almost imperceptible. The water’s waves are churned up by the winds, which come and go and vary in direction and intensity, just as do the winds of stress and change in our lives, which stir up the waves in our minds.

There are mornings when, from the first ray of light seized upon by the eye, and the first simple sounds that get inside the head, the heart is convinced that it is existing in rhythm to a kind of unheard music, familiar but forgotten because long ago it was interrupted and only now has suddenly resumed playing. The silent melodies pass through the fabric of the consciousness like the wind through the meshes of a net, without moving it, but at the same time unmistakably there, all around it. For one who has never lived such a morning, its advent can be a paralyzing experience.

There are no roses in my yard: what wind brought you? But I suddenly come from far away. I was sick for a moment. No wind whatsoever brought you now. Now you’re here. What you were isn’t you, or else the whole rose would be here.

There are times when the unseen can be even more dangerous than what our eyes behold.

There’s always books. And the wind through trees.

There is no love story more beautiful than that between wind and rain.

The small launch bay was littered with debris. A powerful breeze tore at his black silk shirt as Kilroy made his way across it to the waiting shuttle, evoking a feeling like the fingers of fate were caressing his body. “The Hammer” stepped over the body of one of his fallen crew without a trace of care or concern. The air was rushing past him, like a wind, out into space through the wounds in the side of his ship. Fatigued and desperate, the Hammer was running out of options. His ship was a mess, holed in a dozen places, the life support systems failing. Weakened hull sections were collapsing in pressure bursts. The vibrations that shook the deck beneath him now were not from the engines that once drove her forward, but now from the explosions down below, tearing her apart.

The sky was becoming iron, and the trees seemed to rustle uneasily at an unfelt wind, murmuring to one another, Weather is coming.

The sloshing of their hooves in the paddy field that I heard thirty yards away, my car door open for the breeze, the haunting sound I was caught within as if creatures of magnificence were undressing and removing their wings

There was no wind which could have swept my thoughts away from my bositerous heart; not that day, not this day and not any other day

There were streetlights here, but they were so far apart and surrounded by trees that light dropped away to solid black between them. The skin on the back of his neck crawled as he became aware of the darkness. He didn't usually walk around after nightfall, but tonight he'd had no choice without his car. The wind lifted his hair, leaving him shivering; a voice in his mind chattered nervously. There was someone in my yard the other night...

The sky's inclemency stirs up the angry winds; the watery clouds are soaking with ceaseless rain. The turbulent Vltava, swollen with rainy waves, Bursting, impetuous, breaks through its river banks.

The wind was never angry, the rain was never sad.

The sunlight, penetrating the gaps in the tall trees, plays chess on the gravestones, shifting slowly and thoughtfully across the worn old stones. The wind, like a hundred violins, plays perpetually in the topmost branches of the deodars.

The taller a tree the taller the wind that comes against it.

The top easily preventable health problems that I see in western societies are: 1. Eating chemically grown food. 2. Exposure to electronically generated harmonic energy from wind and solar power systems. 3. Exposure to harmonic energy from switched mode power supplies (SMPS) that come with modern electronic products. 4. Exposure to wireless radio frequency radiation (RF). 5. Light deficiency from an indoor lifestyle and Low-E double glazed windows. 6. Sound deficiency from heavily insulated homes that are devoid of natural sounds and are extremely quiet. 7. Pollen deficiency from living in man-made cities that are devoid of natural levels of pollen. 8. Natural radiation deficiency from living in homes that block natural levels of environmental radiation. 9. Open drain sickness that occurs when drain traps dry out and faulty vent valves that allow sewer gas to fill the home. 10. Drinking the wrong type of water.

The wind has no right to complain about the waves!

The wind is blowing. Don’t bend if you want to please him.

The wind plays its own music.

The wind and sky know that there is no joy in unlimited freedom

the wind is scary.. during a tornado or in life in general.. never know when a gust is going to come in your direction and change everything

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow…There must be reasons why the leaves decay. (From Auden's "If I Could Tell You

The wind can only carry what is lighter than it.

The wind goes nowhere and takes us with it.

The sun rises, the sun falls, the wind blows and the birds sing no matter where you are. These are experiences that unite us all... something we can all enjoy together

The wild abundance of air around her gave her a strange tingling feeling right in the places where shoulder blades end and before spine begins. -The Girl with Dragonfly Wings

The wind blew stronger. Masakichi had to walk into its resistance, but his pace did not slow. The further he went, the faster he moved, soundlessly and forcefully. The earth smelled like rain. He had to find a way out. Alive. His grandfather Jinzaemon had taught him how to find a straight path, even in the wind. Jinzaemon was born in 1848, twenty years before Japan first opened its doors to the West. He had taught Masakichi all about ninjutsu. “If you want to go straight against the wind, find a path in its folds and pass through it,” he had said, al- though he’d never actually taught his grandson how to find it. Still, Masakichi had begged him. “Even if I teach you where the path is, you won’t be able to see it because the wind is always changing. If I show you the path in the wind one minute, the wind will shift and the path will disappear the next.” “Then how do I find it?” Masakichi had asked, worried he’d never be able to do it. “You must find it anew each time,” his grandfather smiled. “The only way to see the path in the wind is to become the wind itself.

...the wind hums low with sweet exultation, sings its lullaby, while you sleep ...

The wind comes across the plains not howling but singing. It's the difference between this wind and its big-city cousins: the full-throated wind of the plains has leeway to seek out the hidden registers of its voice. Where immigrant farmers planted windbreaks a hundred and fifty years ago. it keens in protest; where the young corn shoots up, it whispers as it passes, crossing field after field in its own time, following eastward trends but in no hurry to find open water. You can't usually see it in paintings, but it's an important part of the scenery.

The wind forgets. It will always forget as it never stays still long enough in one place for a memory to remain. A flame is the same. It flickers as though the memory is a painful one causing distress that needs evicting. It is only in that which is solid can a memory exist until it chiselled away by time. And there we have it; the longer we spend in reminiscing the more chance it is for the wind to extinguish the flame! © 2017, Danny Kemp All rights reserved

The wind can only only carry what is lighter than it.

To a fireman, wind is a curse. To a sailor, wind is a blessing.

They were the prisoners hidden in different cages, and yet they saw each other every day. He named her fire and she named him the wind, the day they both touched and embraced each other they burnt down everything that stood in their way.

Thomas Merton, the Trappist monk, wrote that nothing can be expressed about solitude "that has not already been said better by the wind in the pine trees.

To most human beings, wind is an irritation. To most trees, wind is a song.

Ujanja wote ulimwisha Murphy. Ilimbidi kutoboa siri ili adui asizidi kumuumiza. Alilaumu mno kufa wakati alishakula ng’ombe mzima. Alifikiri Mogens na Yehuda walishauwawa kulingana na hasira nyingi za magaidi. Walihakikisha hawafanyi makosa hata kidogo. Alivyomaliza kumhoji, yule adui alizunguka nyuma katika mgongo wa Murphy na kwenda katika dirisha lililokuwa wazi – la mashariki – ambapo aliegemea na kuvuta sigara. Alichungulia kidogo nje kisha akageuka na kuendelea kupata upepo mdogo wa baridi.

Trends are about as fickle as the direction of the wind; as are the legacies of those who flow with them.

Utility electricity is a known hazardous biological toxin and the toxicity of it is increasing as it progresses into harmonic electronic power generation (Wind & Solar) and wireless radio frequency (RF) radiation smart/AMR/AMI meters.

Wakati ndege inapaa huwa inapambana na upepo. Lakini inapaa, hata hivyo.

Water has no mouth, but swallows many. Light has no hands, but touches many. Wind has no feet, but carries many. Darkness has no teeth, but devours many.

What a night it was! The jagged masses of heavy dark cloud were rolling at intervals from horizon to horizon, and thin white wreaths covered the stars. Through all the rush of the cloud river the moon swam, breasting the waves and disappearing again in the darkness. I walked up and down, drinking in the beauty of the quiet earth and the changing sky. The night was absolutely silent. Nothing seemed to be abroad. There was no scurrying of rabbits, or twitter of the half-asleep birds. And though the clouds went sailing across the sky, the wind that drove them never came low enough to rustle the dead leaves in the woodland paths. Across the meadows I could see the church tower standing out black and grey against the sky. ("Man Size In Marble")

We are candles, I remember thinking, and the wind is rising.

We are in the process of finding out what filling billions of acres with huge wind turbines does to the global environment.

We came on the wind of the carnival. Eight and a half long years ago, on a wind that seemed to promise so much; a mad wind, full of confetti and scented with smoke and pancakes cooked by the side of the road. The pancake stall is still there, and the crowds that line the side of the street, and the flower-decked cart with its motley crew of fairies, wolves and witches. I bought a galette from that very stall. I bought one now, to remember. Still as good, just the right side of burnt, and the flavors- butter and salt and rye- help reawaken the memory.

We can give happiness a chance: happiness is learnable. Life is a choice and happiness is a question of focusing, hearing and seeing the right things behind the appearances. It is a matter of finding out, differencing worthiness and irrelevance, connectedness and distantness, warmth and aloofness, brightness and dimness. Happiness is the lucky potential to steer friskily along the cliffs of the unknown avoiding the obstacles of narcissism and conceit. ( " Happiness blowing in the wind. " )

We need to stop using fossil fuels as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the two leading replacements of wind and solar have emerging health and environmental problems.

We are adrift, and the thinnest breeze may blow us where it will.

We are just wind on this earth, wind breathing in air.