They say marriages are made in Heaven. But so is thunder and lightning.
— thunderous quotation by Clint Eastwood
It is not light that we need, but fire;
it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.
So this is how liberty dies. With thunderous applause.
And if these mountains had eyes, they would wake to find two strangers in their fences, standing in admiration as a breathing red pours its tinge upon earth's shore. These mountains, which have seen untold sunrises, long to thunder praise but stand reverent, silent so that man's weak praise should be given God's attention.
Thunder is the sound of hoofbeats in heaven.
When a man is just and firm in his purpose,The citizens burning to approve a wrongOr the frowning looks of a tyrantDo not shake his fixed mind, nor the Southwind.Wild lord of the uneasy Adriatic,Nor the thunder in the mighty hand of Jove:Should the heavens crack and tumble down,As the ruins crushed him he would not fear.
O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with passion would I shake the world...
He says NO! in thunder; but the Devil himself cannot make him say yes.
Be grateful for luck. Pay the thunder no mind - listen to the birds. And don't hate nobody.
Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.
I done wrestled with an alligator, I done tussled with a whale;
handcuffed lightning, thrown thunder in jail; only last week, I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalised a brick; I'm so mean I make medicine sick.
If there is no struggle there is no progress.
Those who profess to favor freedom and yet deprecate agitation, are men who want crops without plowing up the ground, they want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters. This struggle may be a moral one, or it may be a physical one, and it may be both moral and physical, but it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.
For it is not light that is needed, but fire;
it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake. The feeling of the nation must be quickened; the conscience of the nation must be roused; the propriety of the nation must be startled; the hypocrisy of the nation must be exposed; and its crimes against God and man must be proclaimed and denounced.
There is the grand truth about Nathaniel Hawthorne.
He says NO! in thunder; but the Devil himself cannot make him say yes. For all men who say yes, lie; and all men who say no,why, they are in the happy condition of judicious, unincumbered travellers in Europe; they cross the frontiers into Eternity with nothing but a carpet-bag,that is to say, the Ego. Whereas those yes-gentry, they travel with heaps of baggage, and, damn them! they will never get through the Custom House.
God speaks to me not through the thunder and the earthquake, nor through the ocean and the stars, but through the Son of Man, and speaks in a language adapted to my imperfect sight and hearing.
They that are loudest in their threats are the weakest in the execution of them.
It is probable that he who is killed by lightning hears no noise; but the thunder-clap which follows, and which most alarms the ignorant, is the surest proof of their safety.
Let us not look east and west for materials of conversation, but rest in presence and unity. A just feeling will fast enough supply fuel for discourse, if speaking be more grateful than silence. When people come to see us, we foolishly prattle, lest we be inhospitable. But things said for conversation are chalk eggs. Don't say things. What you are stands over you the while, and thunders so that I cannot hear what you say to the contrary. A lady of my acquaintance said, I don't care so much for what they say as I do for what makes them say it.
Before a thunderstorm there is a build-up of tension which is only relieved by the explosive force of thunder and lightning. In human affairs there must be a clear distinction between the penalties for small and great crimes. Retribution for wrongdoing must be swiftly and surely applied if greater problems are to be prevented.
When the thunder rumbles,Now the age of gold is dead.
When the dreams we've clung toTrying to stay young,Have left us parched and old instead.When my courage crumbles,When I feel confused and frail,When my spirit falters on decaying altarsAnd my illusions fail --I go on right then.I go on again.I go on to say I will celebrate another day.I go on.If tomorrow tumblesAnd everything I love is gone,I will face regret all my days, and yetI will still go on.
Times of great calamity and confusion have been productive for the greatest minds. The purest ore is produced from the hottest furnace. The brightest thunder-bolt is elicited from the darkest storm.
History is only the pattern of silken slippers descending the stairs to the thunder of hobnailed boots climbing upward from below.
It's really a wonder that I haven't dropped all my ideals because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet, I keep them, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever-approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.
The human heart can go to the lengths of God.
Dark and cold we may be, but this Is no winter now. The frozen misery Of centuries breaks, cracks, begins to move;The thunder is the thunder of the floes, The thaw, the flood, the upstart Spring.Thank God our time is now when wrongComes up to face us everywhere,Never to leave us till we takeThe longest stride of soul we humans ever took.Affairs are now soul size.The enterprise Is exploration into God.Where are you making for? It takes So many thousand years to wake, But will you wake for pity
Democratic societies are unfit for the publication of such thunderous revelations as I am in the habit of making.
A sound like a sound of thunder rolled, And the heart of a nation stirred
On the road to Mandalay Where the flyin' fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the bay.
If winds are the spirit of the sky's ocean, the clouds are the texture.
Their is easily the most uninhibited dominion of the earth. Nothing in physical shape is too fantastic for them. They can be round as apples or as fine as string, as dense as a jungle, as wispy as a whiff of down, as mild as puddle water or as potent as the belch of a volcano. Some are thunderous anvils formed by violent up drafts from the warm earth. Some are ragged coattails of storms that have passed. Some are stagnant blankets of warm air resting on cold. I have seen clouds in the dawn that looked like a pink Sultan with his pale harem maidens and a yellow slob of eunuch lolling impotent in the background.
We can never have enough of nature. We must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and titanic features, the sea-coast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its decaying trees, the thunder-cloud, and the rain which lasts three weeks and produces freshets. We need to witness our own limits transgressed, and some life pasturing freely where we never wander.
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.
There is one topic peremptorily forbidden to all well-bred, to all rational mortals, namely, their distempers. If you have not slept, or if you have slept, or if you have headache, or sciatica, or leprosy, or thunder-stroke, I beseech you, by all angels, to hold your peace, and not pollute the morning.
You can tear a poem apart to see what makes it tick.
.. You're back with the mystery of having been moved by words. The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps... so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in.
Applause that comes thundering with such force you might think the audience merely suffers the music as an excuse for its ovations.