Mist Quotes - Page 11

• I close my eyes and can see men drawing lines in the dust. America pushes through the membrane of mist and smoke, and I'm a small boy again in Bogalusa.

  Yusef Komunyakaa

  Eye, Men, Boys

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• We twain have met like the ships upon the sea, Who behold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet: One little hour! and then, away they speed On lonely paths, through mist, and cloud, and foam, To meet no more.

  Alexander Smith

  Lonely, Sweet, Clouds

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• How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven.

  Robert Southey

  Beautiful, Night, Clouds

  Robert Southey (1829). “Poetical works”, p.89

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• At length corruption, like a general flood (So long by watchful ministers withstood), Shall deluge all; and avarice, creeping on, Spread like a low-born mist, and blot the sun.

  Alexander Pope

  Long, Sun, Corruption

  Alexander Pope (1856). “The Poetical Works of Alexander Pope”, p.26

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• How do the stems connect to the roots?' 'Where is the mist coming from?' 'Why does one tree seem darker than another?' These questions are implicitly asked and answered in the process of sketching.

  Alain de Botton

  Roots, Tree, Doe

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• We plant our roots in trembling earth, we live where mountains rose and fell and prehistoric seas burned away in mist. We and the towns we have built are not permanent; the earth itself is a passing train.

  Robert R. McCammon

  Sea, Roots, Rose

  Robert R. McCammon (2011). “Boy's Life”, p.122, Open Road Media

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• How sad, ye Gods, how sad the world is at evening, how mysterious the mists over the swamps! You will know it when you have wandered astray in those mists, when you have suffered greatly before dying, when you have walked through the world carrying an unbearable burden. You know it two when you are weary and ready to leave this earth without regret; its mists; its swamps and its rivers; ready to give yourself into the arms of death with a light heart, knowing that death alone can comfort you.

  Mikhail Bulgakov

  Regret, Heart, Two

  Mikhail Bulgakov (2010). “The Master and Margarita (Vintage Classic Russians Series)”, p.426, Random House

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• Hush little owl, You're with Twi. I got the moves to get you by. Big bad crows. St. Aggie's scamps Ain't got nothin to show the champ. I'll pop a spiral With a twist, Do a three-sixty And scatter mist----

  Kathryn Lasky

  Moving, Owl, Crow

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• I don't have much time for stories," Vin said. "Seems that fewer and fewer people do, these days." A canopy kept off the ash, but he seemed unconcerned about the mists. "It makes me wonder what is so alluring about the real world that gives them all such a fetish for it. It's not a very nice place these days.

  Brandon Sanderson

  Real, Nice, People

  Brandon Sanderson (2008). “The Hero of Ages: Book Three of Mistborn”, p.226, Macmillan

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• ...and once at Hana's house, when we stole some blackberry liqueur from her parents' liquor cabinet and drank until the ceiling started spinning overhead. Hana was laughing and giggling, but I didn't like it, didn't like the sweet sick taste in my mouth or the way my thoughts seemed to break apart like a mist in the sun.

  Lauren Oliver

  Sweet, Sick, Laughing

  Lauren Oliver (2014). “Delirium: The Complete Collection: Delirium, Hana, Pandemonium, Annabel, Raven, Requiem”, p.64, Harper Collins

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• I like rain and mist. I've never understood why people exclaim over bright skies and bushels of glaring sunshine.

  Franny Billingsley

  Rain, Sunshine, Sky

  Franny Billingsley (2001). “The Folk Keeper”, p.49, Simon and Schuster

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• The splendors of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not; Like stars to their appointed height they climb And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil.

  Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Stars, Veils, May

  Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Percy Bysshe Shelley, John Keats (1832). “The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley and Keats: Complete in One Volume”, p.411

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• It's a funny thing about bogs. You can fill them with rocks and sand and old logs and make a little fenced-in yard on top with a woodpile and chopping block - but bogs go right on behaving like bogs. Early in the spring they breathe ice and make their own mist, in remembrance of the time when they had black water and their own sedge blossoming untouched.

  Tove Jansson

  Block, Spring, Rocks

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• They dared not peer down into their own natures, down into the feverish confusion that filled their minds with a kind of dense, acrid mist.

  Emile Zola

  Confusion, Mind, Peers

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• Nicholas Benedict did have an exceptional gift for knowing things (more exceptional, in fact, than most adults would have thought possible), and yet not even he could know that this next chapter was to be the most unusual-and most important-of his entire childhood. Indeed, the strange days that lay ahead would change him forever, though for now they had less substance than the mist through which he ran.

  Trenton Lee Stewart

  Knowing, Childhood, Forever

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• Repeat after me, there are the living and the dead, there are day-folk and night-folk, there are ghouls and mist-walkers, there are high hunters and the Hounds of God. Also, there are solitary types." "What are you?" asked Bod. "I," she said sternly, "am Miss Lupescu." "And what is Silas?" She hesitated. Then she said, "He is a solitary type.

  Neil Gaiman

  Night, Ghouls, Missing

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• Alas, how easily things go wrong! A sigh too much, a kiss too long And there follows a mist and a weeping rain And life is never the same again

  George MacDonald

  Rain, Kissing, Long

  George Macdonald (2015). “MacDonalds’ Fairy-Tale Treasure Chest”, p.635, Simon and Schuster

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• Walking down Belmotte was the oddest sensation-- every step took us deeper into the mist until at last it closed over our heads. It was like being drowned in the ghost of water.

  Dodie Smith

  Water, Lasts, Steps

  Dodie Smith (2012). “I Capture the Castle”, p.355, Random House

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• Freedom! That was the thought that sung in her heart so that even though the future was so dim, it was iridescent like the mist over the river where the morning sun fell upon it. Freedom! Not only freedom from a bond that irked, and a companionship which depressed her; freedom, not only from the death which had threatened, but freedom from the love that had degraded her; freedom from all spiritual ties, the freedom of a disembodied spirit, and with freedom, courage , and a valiant unconcern for whatever was to come.

  W. Somerset Maugham

  Spiritual, Morning, Heart

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• But Annabeth knew that people saw what they wanted to see. They didn’t need the Mist to warp their perceptions.

  Rick Riordan

  People, Perception, Needs

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• Ancient mirror Macick mirror Shades of gray Hidden Forbidden Within, away Part the mist Macick kissed Call the fey Reveal the past The spell is cast I save the day!

  P. C. Cast

  Past, Mirrors, Fey

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• God is here, right now, at our side. We can see him in this mist, in the ground we're walking on, even in my shoes. His angels keep watch while we sleep and help us in our work. In order to find God, you have only to look around.

  Paulo Coelho

  Angel, Sleep, Order

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• The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

  Robert Jordan

  Memories, Past, Wind

  Robert Jordan (2002). “From The Two Rivers: The Eye of the World”, p.1, Macmillan

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• And beyond the timeless meadows and emerald pastures, the rabbit holes and moss-covered oak and rowan trees and the "slippy sloppy" houses of frogs, the woodland-scented wind rushed between the leaves and blew around the gray veil that dipped below the fells, swirling up in a mist, blurring the edges of the distant forest. (View from Windermere in the Lake District)

  Susan Branch

  Lakes, Views, Wind

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• I certainly don't sit down and plan a book out before I write it. There's a phrase I use called "The Valley Full of Clouds." Writing a novel is as if you are going off on a journey across a valley. The valley is full of mist, but you can see the top of a tree here and the top of another tree over there. And with any luck you can see the other side of the valley. But you cannot see down into the mist. Nevertheless, you head for the first tree.

  Terry Pratchett

  Book, Writing, Journey

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