Never make a permanent decision based on a temporary storm.. No matter how raging the billows are today, remind yourself: "This too shall pass!"— T. D. Jakes
Most Powerful Billow quotations
On a windswept hill by a billowing sea, my destiny sits and waits for me.
Character is formed in the stormy billows of the world.
Life has puffed and blown itself into a summer day, and clouds and spring billow over the heavens as if calendars were a listing of mathematical errors.
A cloud is made of billows upon billows upon billows that look like clouds.
As you come closer to a cloud you don't get something smooth, but irregularities at a smaller scale.
If India is to survive, she must be made young again.
Rushing and billowing streams of energy must be poured into her; her soul must become, as it was in the old times, like the surges, vast, puissant, calm or turbulent at will, an ocean of action or of force.
Rocking on a lazy billow With roaming eyes, Cushioned on a dreamy pillow, Thou art now wise. Wake the power within thee slumbering, Trim the plot that's in thy keeping, Thou wilt bless the task when reaping Sweet labour's prize.
But God is the God of the waves and the billows, and they are still His when they come over us; and again and again we have proved that the overwhelming thing does not overwhelm. Once more by His interposition deliverance came. We were cast down, but not destroyed.
Talents are best nurtured in solitude. Character is best formed in the stormy billows of the world.
. . . and God knows we are sensitive to the suffering that has sometimes broken loose to come billowing forth from your appendages like the pungent vapors of whales - often it appears that in this life of experience and accommodation we pay just as dearly for our triumphs as we do for our defeats. But Sissy . . . hold on!
We were made to enjoy music, to enjoy beautiful sunsets, to enjoy looking at the billows of the sea and to be thrilled with a rose that is bedecked with dew.
When moral superiority combines with billowing ignorance, they fill up a hot-air balloon that's awfully hard not to poke.
Moonless winter night- a billow of rising fog hides the distant pines
Everyone understands the pain that accompanies death, but genuine pain doesn't live in the spirit, nor in the air, nor in our lives, nor on these terraces of billowing smoke. The genuine pain that keeps everything awake is a tiny, infinite burn on the innocent eyes of other systems.
Forced from home, and all its pleasures, afric coast I left forlorn;
to increase a stranger's treasures, o the raging billows borne. Men from England bought and sold me, paid my price in paltry gold; but, though theirs they have enroll'd me, minds are never to be sold.
The pilot cannot mitigate the billows or calm the winds.
The Scythians take kannabis seed, creep in under the felts, and throw it on the red-hot stones. It smolders and sends up such billows of steam-smoke that no Greek vapor bath can surpass it. The Scythians howl with joy in these vapor-baths, which serve them instead of bathing, for they never wash their bodies with water.
Have you never, when waves were breaking, watched children at sport on the beach, With their little feet tempting the foam-fringe, till with stronger and further reach Than they dreamed of, a billow comes bursting, how they turn and scamper and screech!
When winds are raging o'er the upper oceanAnd billows wild contend with angry roar,'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotionThat peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.Far, far beneath, the noise of tempests diethAnd silver waves chime ever peacefully,And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flyethDisturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea.
Waning moons their settled periods keep, to swell the billows and ferment the deep.
The storm is master. Man, as a ball, is tossed twixt winds and billows.
I know nothing that can so comfort the soul, so calm the swelling billows of grief and sorrow, so speak peace to the winds of trial, as a devout musing upon the subject of the Godhead.
I have seen the sea lashed into fury and tossed into spray, and its grandeur moves the soul of the dullest man; but I remember that it is not the billows, but the calm level of the sea from which all heights and depths are measured.
The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright-- And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night.
Because its myriad glimmering plumes Like a great army's stir and wave;
Because its golden billows blooms, The poor man's barren walks to lave: Because its sun-shaped blossoms show How souls receive the light of God, And unto earth give back that glow I thank him for the Goldenrod.
Designers want me to dress like Spring, in billowing things.
I don't feel like Spring. I feel like a warm red Autumn.
He who bridles the fury of the billows knows also to put a stop to the secret plans of the wicked. Submitting with respect to His holy will, I fear God, and have no other fear.
Alas! for that accursed time They bore thee o'er the billow, From love to titled age and crime, And an unholy pillow! From me, and from our misty clime, Where weeps the silver willow!
One little bird not larger than a sparrow, it may have been a Phalarope, would alight on the turbulent surface where the breakers were five or six feet high, and float buoyantly there like a duck, cunningly taking to its wings and lifting itself a few feet through the air over the foaming crest of each breaker, but sometimes outriding safely a considerable billow which hid it some seconds, when its instinct told it that it would not break. It was a little creature thus to sport with the ocean, but it was as perfect a success in its way as the breakers in theirs.
He'd have given me rolling lands, Houses of marble, and billowing farms, Pearls, to trickle between my hands, Smoldering rubies, to circle my arms. You- you'd only a lilting song, Only a melody, happy and high, You were sudden and swift and strong- Never a thought for another had I. He'd have given me laces rare, Dresses that glimmered with frosty sheen, Shining ribbons to wrap my hair, Horses to draw me, as fine as a queen. You- you'd only to whistle low, Gayly I followed wherever you led. I took you, and I let him go- Somebody ought to examine my head!
There had been an autumn storm of wind and rain, lasting for three days.
Thunderous had been the crash of billows on the rocks, wild the white spray and spume that blew over the bar, troubled and misty and tempest-torn the erstwhile blue peace of Four Winds Harbor. Now it was over, and the shore lay clean-washed after the storm; not a wind stirred, but there was still a fine surf on, dashing on sand and rock in a splendid white turmoil--the only restless thing in the great, pervading stillness and peace.
The world is full of human lobsters; men stranded on the rocks of indecision and procrastination, who, instead of putting forth their own energies, are waiting for some grand billow of good fortune to set them afloat.
A lobster, when left high and dry among the rock, does not have the sense enough to work his way back to the sea, but waits for the sea to come to him. If it does not come, he remains where he is and dies, although the slightest effort would enable him to reach the waves, which are perhaps within a yard of him. The world is full of human lobsters; people stranded on the rocks of indecision and procrastination, who, instead of putting forth their own energies, are waiting for some grand billow of good fortune to set them afloat.
How the old mountains drip with sunset,And the brake of dun!How the hemlocks are tipped in tinselBy the wizard sun!How the old steeples hand the scarlet,Till the ball is full, --Have I the lip of the flamingoThat I dare to tell?Then, how the fire ebbs like billows,Touching all the grassWith a departing, sapphire feature,As if a duchess pass!How a small dusk crawls on the villageTill the houses blot;And the odd flambeaux no men carryGlimmer on the spot!Now it is night in nest and kennel,And where was the wood,Just a dome of abyss is noddingInto solitude! --These are the visions baffled Guido;Titian never told;Domenichino dropped the pencil,Powerless to unfold.
I know my own soul, how feeble and puny it is: I know the magnitude of this ministry, and the great difficulty of the work; for more stormy billows vex the soul of the priest than the gales which disturb the sea.