Wet Quotes - Page 16

• The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.

  Robert Burns

  Flower, Violet, Snowdrops

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• Better than any argument is to rise at dawn and pick dew-wet red berries in a cup.

  Wendell Berry

  Food, Cooking, Red Lipstick

  Wendell Berry (2011). “Farming: A Hand Book”, p.49, Counterpoint Press

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• People who wear fur smell like a wet dog if they're in the rain. And they look fat and gross.

  Pamela Anderson

  Dog, Rain, Smell

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• Everything I pick up seems to lure me away. Everything I do in my daily life begins to feel like striking wet matches. The need to travel is a mysterious force. A desire to 'go' runs through me equally with an intense desire to 'stay' at home. An equal and opposite thermodynamic principle. When I travel, I think of home and what it means. At home I'm dreaming of catching trains at night in the gray light of Old Europe, or pushing open shutters to see Florence awaken. The balance just slightly tips in the direction of the airport.

  Frances Mayes

  Running, Dream, Home

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• A hundred yards away, Mike Newton was lowering Bella's limp body to the sidewalk. She slumped unresponsively against the wet concrete, her skin chalky as a corpse. I almost took the door off the car.

  Stephenie Meyer

  Doors, Car, Skins

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• You put on such a brave front. But I know if I took another step toward you, you'd wet your pants." "With your blood." I brandished my knife. But I couldn't keep a straight face; the boast sounded ridiculous even to my own ears. I snickered. She laughed. The release of tension made me giddy, and soon I was laughing and crying.

  Maria V. Snyder

  Blood, Knives, Laughing

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• Shotgun!" announced Clary as Jace came back around the side of the van. Alec grabbed for his bow, strapped across his back. "Where?" "She means she wants the front seat," said Jace, pushing wet hair out of his eyes.

  Cassandra Clare

  Mean, Eye, Hair

  Cassandra Clare (2011). “Cassandra Clare: The Mortal Instrument Series (4 books): City of Bones; City of Ashes; City of Glass; City of Fallen Angels”, p.301, Simon and Schuster

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• Oooh, that was fun." "That does it," said Jace. "I'm going to get you a dictionary for Christmas this year." "Why?" Isabelle said. "So you can look up 'fun.' I'm not sure you know what it means." Isabelle pulled the long heavy mass of her wet hair forward and wrung it out as if it were wet washing. "You're raining on my parade." "It's a pretty wet parade already, if you hadn't noticed." Jace glanced around.

  Cassandra Clare

  Fun, Rain, Mean

  Cassandra Clare (2009). “City of Ashes”, p.164, Simon and Schuster

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• I might cry tomorrow, but I may be smiling the day after. That's enough. That's the way life is. If I don't lose hope - tomorrow will come. Tomorrow will come if we don't lose hope... I learned that from Nana. But rainy days still make my cheeks wet with tears, even now. It was pouring, on that rainy day.

  Ai Yazawa

  Rainy Day, Tears, Pouring

  "Nana". Manga series by Ai Yazawa, July 2000 – June 2009.

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• A wine shop was open and I went in for some coffee. It smelled of early morning, of swept dust, spoons in coffee-glasses and the wet circles left by wine glasses.

  Ernest Hemingway

  Morning, Coffee, Wine

  Ernest Hemingway (2016). “A Farewell to Arms”, p.139, Hamilton Books

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• Marianne Dashwood looks at gray skies and sees blue. That's all very well, and it's not something you ever want entirely to lose. But you must lose a little of it; otherwise you're going to get wet.

  Emma Thompson

  Blue, Sky, Looks

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• In sunshine, in prosperity, the flowers are very well; but how many wet days are there in life—November seasons of disaster, when a man's hearth and home would be cold indeed, without the clear, cheering gleam of intellect.

  Charlotte Bronte

  Cheer, Flower, Home

  Charlotte Bronte (2010). “Shirley and The Professor”, p.666, Everyman's Library

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• We know summer is the height of of being alive. We don't believe in God or the prospect of an afterlife mostly, so we know that we're only given eighty summers or so per lifetime, and each one has to be better then the last, has to encompass a trip to that arts center up at Bard, a seemingly mellow game of badminton over at some yahoo's Vermont cottage, and a cool, wet, slightly dangerous kayak trip down an unforgiving river. Otherwise, how would you know that you have lived your summertime best? What is you missed out on some morsel of shaded nirvana?

  Gary Shteyngart

  Summer, Art, Believe

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• If you were a woman, all I'd have to say is 'Colin Firth in a wet shirt' and you'd say 'Ah.

  Shannon Hale

  Shirts, Ifs

  Shannon Hale (2013). “Austenland: A Novel”, p.77, A&C Black

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• The idea that boys want to sleep with their mothers strikes most men as the silliest thing they have ever heard. Obviously, it did not seem so to Freud, who wrote that as a boy he once had an erotic reaction to watching his mother dressing. But Freud had a wet-nurse, and may not have experienced the early intimacy that would have tipped off his perceptual system that Mrs. Freud was his mother. The Westermarck theory has out-Freuded Freud.

  Steven Pinker

  Mother, Sleep, Boys

  Steven Pinker (2009). “How the Mind Works”, p.460, W. W. Norton & Company

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• He was going to take a dive into this lake. He just didn’t know it. Cerise rose, finding footing in the soft mud. The water came up to just below her breasts and her wet shirt stuck to her body. William’s gaze snagged on her chest. Yep, keep looking, Lord Bill. Keeeeeep looking.

  Ilona Andrews

  Lakes, Water, Rose

  Ilona Andrews (2010). “Bayou Moon”, p.81, Penguin

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• Every season is likeable, and wet days and fine, red wine and white, company and solitude. Even sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life, can be full of dreams; and the most common actions──a walk, a talk, solitude in one’s own orchard──can be enhanced and lit up by the association of the mind. Beauty is everywhere, and beauty is only two finger’s-breadth from goodness.

  Virginia Woolf

  Dream, Wine, Sleep

  "The Common Reader". Book by Virginia Woolf, 1925.

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• The little fishing boat anchors right off the shore of Gili Meno. There are no docks here on this island. You have to roll up your pants, jump off the boat and wade in through the surf on your own power. There's absolutely no way to do this without getting soaking wet or even banged up on the coral, but it's worth all the trouble because the beach here is so beautiful, so special

  Elizabeth Gilbert

  Beautiful, Beach, Islands

  Elizabeth Gilbert (2010). “The Complete Elizabeth Gilbert: Eat, Pray, Love; Committed; The Last American Man; Stern Men & Pilgrims”, p.309, A&C Black

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• The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, Expend their bloom in vain. Come over the hills and far with me, And be my love in the rain.

  Robert Frost

  Rain, Flower, Clouds

  Robert Frost, Thomas Fasano (2008). “Selected Early Poems of Robert Frost”, p.40, Coyote Canyon Press

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• I suggest you leave. Now. (Nykyrian) (The would-be attackers flee.) Had you said ‘boo,’ I think they would have wet themselves. (Kiara)

  Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Thinking, Would Be, Said

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• There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water. "What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. "Your new school uniform," she said. Harry looked in the bowl again. "Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet.

  J. K. Rowling

  Morning, Dirty, School

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• Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: 'After a heavy rainfall, poems titled 'Rain' pour in from across the nation.

  Sylvia Plath

  Rain, Writing, August

  Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.9, Anchor

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• Sentimentality, the ostentatious parading of excessive and spurious emotion, is the mark of dishonesty...the wet eyes of the sentimentalist betray his aversion to experience, his fear of life, his arid heart; and it is always, therefore, the signal of secret and violent humanity, the mark of cruelty.

  James A. Baldwin

  Heart, Eye, Humanity

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• Nothing is more satisfying than to write a good sentence. It is no fun to write lumpishly, dully, in prose the reader must plod through like wet sand. But it is a pleasure to achieve, if one can, a clear running prose that is simple yet full of surprises. This does not just happen. It requires skill, hard work, a good ear, and continued practice.

  Barbara Tuchman

  Running, Fun, Hard Work

  Barbara W. Tuchman (2011). “Practicing History: Selected Essays”, p.48, Random House

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• A delicate fabric of bird song
  Floats in the air,
  The smell of wet wild earth
  Is everywhere.
  Oh I must pass nothing by
  Without loving it much,
  The raindrop try with my lips,
  The grass with my touch;
  For how can I be sure
  I shall see again
  The world on the first of May
  Shining after the rain?

  Sara Teasdale

  Song, Spring, Rain

  Sara Teasdale, William Drake (1984). “Mirror of the Heart: Poems of Sara Teasdale”, MacMillan Publishing Company

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