Winds Quotes (page 44)
-
-
-
I am a child of the poisonous wind that copulated with the East River on an oil-slick, garbage infested midnight. I turn about on my own parentage. I inoculate against those very biles that brought me to light. I am a serum born of venoms. I am the antibody of all Time. I am the Cure. You do of the City, do you not? Manhattan is your punisher, let me be you shield.
Ray Bradbury
Each person shines with his or her own light. No two flames are alike. There are big flames and little flames, flames of every color. Some people’s flames are so still they don’t even flicker in the wind, while others have wild flames that fill the air with sparks. Some foolish flames neither burn nor shed light, but others blaze with life so fiercely that you can’t look at them without blinking, and if you approach you shine in the fire.
Eduardo Galeano
One does not argue about The Wind in the Willows. The young man gives it to the girl with whom he is in love, and, if she does not like it, asks her to return his letters. The older man tries it on his nephew, and alters his will accordingly. The book is a test of character. We can't criticize it, because it is criticizing us. But I must give you one word of warning. When you sit down to it, don't be so ridiculous as to suppose that you are sitting in judgment on my taste, or on the art of...
A. A. Milne
Deep down, all the while, she was waiting for something to happen. Like a sailor in distress, she kept casting desperate glances over the solitary waster of her life, seeking some white sail in the distant mists of the horizon. She had no idea by what wind it would reach her, toward what shore it would bear her, or what kind of craft it would be? tiny boat or towering vessel, laden with heartbreaks or filled to the gunwhales with rapture. But every morning when she awoke she hoped that today...
Gustave Flaubert
Fare well we call to hearth and hall. Though wind may blow and rain may fall. We must away ere break of day. Over the wood and mountain tall. To Rivendell where Elves yet dwell. In glades beneath the misty fell. Through moor and waste we ride in haste. And wither then we cannot tell. With foes ahead behind us dread. Beneath the sky shall be our bed. Until at last our toil be sped. Our journey done, our errand sped. We must away! We must away! We ride before the break of day!
J. R. R. Tolkien
It's just a stupid sword," she said, aloud this time...... but it wasn't. Neddle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Neddle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Neddle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Neddle was Jon Snow's smile.
George R. R. Martin
But she could not reduce her vision to words, since it was no single shape coloured upon the dark, but rather a general excitement, an atmosphere, which, when she tried to visualize it, took form as a wind scouring the flanks of the northern hills and flashing light upon cornfields and pools.
Virginia Woolf