Let the rain sing you a lullaby.— Langston Hughes
Floundering Rain And Snow quotations
A rainy day is the perfect time for a walk in the woods.
The trouble with weather forecasting is that it's right too often for us to ignore it and wrong too often for us to rely on it.
A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.
Learn how to read the love letters sent by the wind and rain, the snow and moon.
Good timber does not grow with ease: The stronger wind, the stronger trees;
The further sky, the greater length; The more the storm, the more the strength. By sun and cold, by rain and snow, In trees and men good timbers grow.
Hardships are quickly forgotten. Intense heat, bitter cold, rain and snow, fatigue,and luckless hunting fade quickly into memories of great fellowship, thoughts of beautiful country, pleasant camps, and happy campfires.
There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them. Snow, rain, and mist highlight, drench, or conceal the vast towers, but those towers, hostile to mystery and blind to any sort of play, shear off the rain's tresses and shine their three thousand swords through the soft swan of the fog.
If you no longer live, if you my beloved, my love, if you have died, all the leaves will fall in my breast, it will rain in my soul night and day, the snow will burn my heart, I shall walk with frost and fire and death and snow, my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but I shall live
I think when you’re young you should be a lot with yourself and your sufferings. Then one day you get out where the sun shines and the rain rains and the snow snows and it all comes together.
External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge.
No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty.
All things with which we deal preach to us.
What is a farm but a mute gospel? The chaff and the wheat, weeds and plants, blight, rain, insects, sun,--it is a sacred emblem from the first furrow of spring to the last stack which the snow of winter overtakes in the fields.
No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.
When it's cold and raining,you are more beautiful.
And the snow brings meeven closer to your lipsThe inner secret, that which was never born,you are that freshness, and I am with you now.I can't explain the goings,or the comings. You enter suddenly,and I am nowhere again.Inside the majesty
Rain is disagreeable, but snow is as much part of the mountain as are sunshine and clear skies.
I'm still dominant and that's what matters, .
.. But rain, snow, sleet, it doesn't matter. I'm going to go out and try and win a gold medal.
Working exterior nights in Vancouver, when it's raining and snowing, is a little daunting, when you haven't slept.
Learn to love the sunrise and sunset, the beating of rain on the roof and windows, and the gentle fall of snow on a winter day.
The figures of the past go cloaked. They walk in mist and rain and snow And go, go slowly, but they go.
You never know: rain, sleet, hail, snow, See you gotta accept that's how things go. Prepare for the rainy day, or the sun's glow, But there's clouds movin' in and the clouds gonna blow.
Water is everywhere and in all living things;
we cannot be seperated from water. No water, no life. Period. Water comes in many forms - liquid, vapor, ice, snow, fog, rain, hail. But no matter the form, it's still water.
Come when the rains Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice, While the slant sun of February pours Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach! The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps And the broad arching portals of the grove Welcome thy entering.
Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone.
What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood Is there not rain enough in the sweet heaves To wash it white as snow?
Action is called karma. And that's your continuation. When this body disintegrates, you continue on with your actions. It's like the cloud in the sky. When the cloud is no longer in the sky, it hasn't died. The cloud is continued in other forms like rain or snow or ice.
Just walking in the kitchen (and we have three kitchens at Le Bernardin), I exercise quite a lot. I also walk in Central Park for 50 minutes from my house to Le Bernardin every day, rain, shine, snow.
This path, this road that is one perfect straight line even if it goes around the world through heat and fog and rain and snow and it's my life I keep thinking. It's my life.
Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in the falling snow; Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued Elations when the forest blooms; gusty Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights; All pleasures and all pains, remembering The boughs of summer and the winter branch. These are the measures destined for her soul.
It blows a snowing gale in the winter of the year;
The boats are on the sea and the crews are on the pier.The needle of the vane, it is veering to and fro,A flash of sun is on the veering of the vane.Autumn leaves and rain,The passion of the gale.
For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the seasons of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,The light that loses, the night that wins;And time remembered is grief forgotten,And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,And in green underwood and coverBlossom by blossom the spring begins.
Let firm, well hammer'd soles protect thy feet Through freezing snows, and rains, and soaking sleet; Should the big last extend the shoe too wide, Each stone will wrench the unwary step aside; The sudden turn may stretch the swelling vein, The cracking joint unhinge, or ankle sprain; And when too short the modish shoes are worn, You'll judge the seasons by your shooting corn.
The rocks are where they are- and this is their will.
The rivers flow- and this is their will. The birds fly- this is their will. Human beings talk- this is their will. The seasons change, heaven sends down rain or snow, the earth occasionally shakes, the waves roll, the stars shine- each of them follows its own will. To be is to will and so is to become.
If I were reading a book and happened to strike a wonderful passage I would close the book then and there and go for a walk. I hated the thought of coming to the end of a good book. I would tease it along, delay the inevitable as long as possible, But always, when I hit a great passage, I would stop reading immediately. Out I would go, rain, hail, snow or ice, and chew the cud.
It is said that as many days as there are in the whole journey, so many are the men and horses that stand along the road, each horse and man at the interval of a days journey; and these are stayed neither by snow nor rain nor heat nor darkness from accomplishing their appointed course with all speed.
I THINK that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the sweet earth's flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.