Best 2116 quotes in «wind quotes» category

He remembered waking up once, listening to the wind, thinking of all the dark and rushing cold outside and all the warmth of this bed, filled with their peaceful heat under two quilts, and wishing it could be like this forever.

Her queen danced like a flame in the wind, and the mercurial king like the weight at the center of the earth.

He's halfway sick and halfway stoned. He'd sure like to kick, but he's too far gone. So they wind him down with methadone.

He's right on top of us. I wonder if he is using the same wind we are using.

He spent a lot of time flying. He learnt to communicate with birds and discovered that their conversation was fantastically boring. It was all to do with wind speed, wing spans, power-to-weight ratios and a fair bit about berries. Unfortunately, he discovered, once you have learnt birdspeak you quickly come to realize that the air is full of it the whole time, just inane bird chatter. There is no getting away from it.

He that embarks on the voyage of life will always wish to advance rather by the impulse of the wind than the strokes of the oar; and many fold in their passage; while they lie waiting for the gale.

He that resigns his peace to little casualties, and suffers the course of his life to be interrupted for fortuitous inadvertencies or offences, delivers up himself to the direction of the wind, and loses all that constancy and equanimity which constitutes the chief praise of a wise man.

He was a specialist in Feng Shui; that is to say, he was consulted as to the correct ubication and orientation of houses and temples, in relation to the spirits of wind and water.

He who spends more than he earns is sowing the winds of needless self-indulgence from which he is sure to reap the whirlwinds of trouble and humiliation.

He who lives with his senses well controlled, moderate in his food and drink, he will not be overthrown, any more than the wind throws down a rocky mountain.

He who wrongs the innocent must bear the fruit of his act, like dust flung against the wind.

Hip-hop as a culture itself goes through stages. It grows - it's breathing, living. I've noticed that we usually start off conscious, then we wind up very highly sexual, and then we thug it out. Then things get a little funny again, with comedy and that kind of thing.

His calls for justice were lost at the mercy of the wind and human indifference.

His screaming stallions maned with whistling wind.

His heart was like a sensitive plant, that opens for a moment in the sunshine, but curls up and shrinks into itself at the slightest touch of the finger, or the lightest breath of wind.

History will never change because of politics or conquests or theories or wars; that's mere repitition, it's been going on since the beginning of time. History will only change when we are able to use the energy of love, just as we use energy of the wind, the seas, the atom.

History is the sextant of states which, tossed by wind and current, would be lost in confusion if they could not fix their position.

History will only change when we are able to use the energy of love, just as we use the energy of the wind, the seas, the atom.

History, the winnowing wind, never halts. We see the chaff rise, forget the waiting grain, seed of the future, fallen to the threshing floor. We never learn, but live on, slit-narrow, as if our living were a pencil line traced upon paper, behaving as trapped denizens of a flat world hemmed in by the bigoted horizon of our own making. Yet the meaning of living is a pushing back, a pulling down of the great walls and domes of fear and ignorance, is relinquishing the nest for the sky, ignorance for understanding. The look back is also a look forward.

Hither and thither spins The wind-borne mirroring soul, A thousand glimpses wins, And never sees a whole.

Hoist the sails of your own spirit to catch the winds of God.

Homosexuality is the sexual plague of a monogamous society gone promiscuous. These societies that sow the winds of heterosexual freedom ironically reap the whirlwind of homosexual perversion.

Hopelessly uneconomic on any substantial scale, since it requires a conventional power back-up for when the wind stops blowing, forests of wind turbines are rightly regarded in most countries as an environmental monstrosity.

Horses have hoofs to carry them over frost and snow; hair, to protect them from wind and cold. They eat grass and drink water, and fling up their heels.... Such is the real nature of horses.

Horror I appreciate is one of the few genres that can wind the audience up and make them pay attention. I kind of like that. It's one of the few genres that can be very manipulative.

Hot, dry katabatic winds, like the south foehn in Europe, the sharav in the Middle East, and the Santa Ana of Southern California, are all believed to have a decided effect on human behavior and are associated with such health problems as migraines, depression, lethargy, and moodiness. Some scientists say that this is a myth.

How I want to see the mountains, rivers, sunshine, and ruined fortresses! Let the wind course over us until we become beautiful

How easy 'tis, when Destiny proves kind, With full-spread sails to run before the wind!

However often the thread may be torn out of your hands, you must develop enough patience to wind it up again and again.

However, the wind only changes the picture temporarily, the substrate remains the same and sooner or later the same picture surfaces once again.

How many roads must a man walk down Before your can call him a man? . . . The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many souls have been blown into hell with the wind of popular applause?

How many things are now at loose ends! Who knows which way the wind will blow tomorrow?

How many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows That too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How silent are the winds!

How strange and awful is the synthesis of life and death in the gusty winds and falling leaves of an autumnal day!

Human civilization has been changing the Earths environment for millennia, often to our detriment. Dams, deforestation and urbanization can alter water cycles and wind patterns, occasionally triggering droughts or even creating deserts.

Human misery must somewhere have a stop; there is no wind that always blows a storm; great good fortune comes to failure in the end. All is change; all yields its place and goes; to persevere, trusting in what hopes he has, is courage in a man. The coward despairs.

Human pride is not worthwhile; there is always something lying in wait to take the wind out of it.

Hurricane seasons with four or more super-hurricanes, those with sustained wind speeds of 131 mph or more will soon become the norm.

Human relationships are primary in all of living. When the gusty winds blow and shake our lives, if we know that people care about us, we may bend with the wind ... but we won’t break.

How like fish we are: ready, nay eager, to seize upon whatever new thing some wind of circumstance shakes down upon the river of time! And how we rue our haste, finding the gilded morsel to contain a hook!

I also find the desert a wonderful metaphor for desolation and yet the exact counterpart of the ocean with its hidden depths. Both are vast, harsh, implacable, homogenous to the untrained eye, and beautiful. Bothallow the wind to roam on the surface. And both serve as wonderful vehicles for human survival stories.

I am a being of Heaven and Earth, of thunder and lightning, of rain and wind, of the galaxies.

I always think of a voice as an instrument, whether a voice is a trumpet, or violin, or bass. You know what I mean? A horn or wind instrument versus a string instrument. Horn instruments are definitely more toward jazz.

I am a being of Heaven and Earth,of thunder and lightning, of rain and wind, of the galaxies, of the suns and the stars and the void through which they travel. The essence of nature, eternal, divine that all men seek to know to hear, known as the great illusion time, and the all-prevailing atmosphere. And now you know my background.

I am always torn. Between control and chaos; passion and tranquility. Between what's fated and what I want. Part of me longs to take the plunge, to dive off headfirst and let the feeling of control evaporate on the wind. And part of me wants to be in a place where I'd never have to worry about that choice--or any choice. Where peace and calm are the only things I'd feel.

I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar!

I am an atheist (or at best a Unitarian who winds up in church quite a lot).

I am a willow of the wilderness, Loving the wind that bent me.