Wind Quotes - Page 12

• There was nothing dishonourable in not being blown about by every little modern wind. Better to have worth, to entrench, to be an oak of one's own generation.

  John le Carre

  Choices, Generations, Littles

  John le Carre (2002). “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy”, p.26, Simon and Schuster

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• You can't quantify love, and if you try, you can wind up focusing on misleading factors.

  Emily Giffin

  Trying, Factors, Ifs

  Emily Giffin (2010). “Baby Proof: A Novel”, p.48, Macmillan

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• You could hear the wind in the leaves, and on that wind traveled the screams of the kids on the playground in the distance, little kids figuring out how to be alive, how to navigate a world that wasn't made for them by navigating a playground that was.

  John Green

  Distance, Kids, Alive

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• ... the desert, where there is the communal book of moonlight. We were among the rumour of wells. In the palace of winds.

  Michael Ondaatje

  Book, Desert, Palaces

  Michael Ondaatje (2011). “The English Patient”, p.261, Vintage

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• A wise man once said that we can't make anyone feel or do anything. We can throw things into the wind, but it's up to each person to decide how they want to react, where they want to stand when things fall.

  Jonathan Maberry

  Wise, Fall, Men

  Jonathan Maberry (2012). “Tales of the Rot & Ruin: Rot & Ruin; Dust & Decay; Dead & Gone, a Rot & Ruin story; Flesh & Bone”, p.682, Simon and Schuster

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• Will nodded slowly, then looked up at tha black sky. "The stars", he said. "I have never seen them so bright. The wind has blown off the fog, I think." Magnus thought of the joy on Will's face as he had stood bleeding in Camille's living room, clutching the demon tooth in his hand. Somehow I don't think it's the stars that have changed.

  Cassandra Clare

  Stars, Thinking, Fog

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• Before we met, I'd fly for hours to clear my head," Bones said, his voice reaching me even over the rush of wind. "It was the closest I came to finding peace, but though several of my mates could fly, I always went alone. I never wanted to share this with anyone until you.

  Jeaniene Frost

  Voice, Bones, Finding Peace

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• There is eloquence in the tongueless wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the rustling of the reeds beside them, which by their inconceivable relation to something within the soul, awaken the spirits to a dance of breathless rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to the eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of one beloved singing to you alone.

  Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Patriotic, Eye, Voice

  Percy Bysshe Shelley (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley (Illustrated)”, p.1818, Delphi Classics

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• Marco knows he does not have the time to push her away, so he pulls her close, burying his face in her hair, his bowler hat torn from his head by the wind...."Trust me," Celia whispers in his ear, and he stops fighting it, forgetting everything but her.

  Erin Morgenstern

  Fighting, Hair, Doe

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• The night is darkening round me,
  The wild winds coldly blow;
  But a tyrant spell has bound me
  And I cannot, cannot go.
  The giant trees are bending
  Their bare boughs weighed with snow;
  The storm is fast descending,
  And yet I cannot go.
  Clouds beyond clouds above me,
  Wastes beyond wastes below;
  But nothing drear can move me;
  I will not, cannot go.

  Emily Bronte

  Moving, Night, Blow

  "The Night is Darkening Round Me". Poem by Emily Bronte, www.poetryfoundation.org. November 1837.

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• I have an impulse to write all over the orange walls- I need an alphabet of endings ripped out of books, of hands pulled off of clocks, of cold stones, of shoes filled with nothing but wind.

  Jandy Nelson

  Wall, Book, Writing

  Jandy Nelson (2010). “The Sky Is Everywhere”, p.33, Penguin

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• Do I know what people say? Sure. I shrug it off. what else can you do? Stop people from talking? You might as well try to stop the wind from blowing.

  Stephen King

  Talking, People, Trying

  Stephen King (2016). “11/22/63: A Novel”, p.27, Simon and Schuster

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• Farewell," they cried, "Wherever you fare till your eyries receive you at the journey's end!" That is the polite thing to say among eagles. "May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks," answered Gandalf, who knew the correct reply.

  J. R. R. Tolkien

  Farewell, Moon, Journey

  J.R.R. Tolkien (2012). “The Hobbit”, p.65, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Truth was funny, because it was an insistent thing, maybe as powerful and insistent as some force of nature, the push of water or wind. You could keep it out only so long, but it had its own will and its own needs, and maybe you could keep it at bay with lies, but not for long, not for always.

  Deb Caletti

  Powerful, Lying, Long

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• (P)eople’s good intentions can wind up putting us in boxes as confining as coffins.

  Gayle Forman

  Coffins, Good Intentions, Boxes

  Gayle Forman (2011). “Where She Went”, p.92, Penguin

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• Thomas More: Will, I'd trust you with my life. But not your principles. You see, we speak of being anchored to our principles. But if the weather turns nasty you up with an anchor and let it down where there's less wind, and the fishing's better. And "Look," we say, "look, I'm anchored! To my principles!

  Robert Bolt

  Anchors, Fishing, Weather

  Robert Bolt (2013). “A Man For All Seasons”, p.43, A&C Black

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• Above us, the wind blew and the branching shadows rearranged themselves on our skin. Gus squeezed my hand. "It is a good life, Hazel Grace.

  John Green

  Good Life, Hands, Grace

  John Green (2012). “The Fault in Our Stars”, p.153, Penguin UK

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• True names,” said September wonderingly. “These are all true names. Like, when your parents call you to dinner and you don’t come and they call again but you still don’t come, and they call you by all your names together, and then, of course, you have to come, and right quick. Because true names have power, like Lye said. But I never told anyone my true name. The Green Wind told me not to. I didn’t understand what he meant, but I do now.

  Catherynne M. Valente

  Names, Parent, Together

  Catherynne M. Valente (2011). “The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making”, p.223, Macmillan

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• One can never be sure,” the Green Wind sighed. “There is always the danger of kisses where sleeping maids are concerned. But you are safe now, and for awhile yet, and why worry about a thing that may never come to pass? Do not ruin today with mourning tomorrow.

  Catherynne M. Valente

  Sleep, Kissing, Worry

  Catherynne M. Valente (2014). “The Fairyland Series”, p.273, Macmillan

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• Sometimes when I'm with you, I remember things I lost when I was your age. Like I remember the sound of the rain and the smell of the wind.

  Haruki Murakami

  Rain, Smell, Age

  Haruki Murakami (2011). “Dance Dance Dance”, p.307, Random House

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• Other letters simply relate the small events that punctuate the passage of time: roses picked at dusk, the laziness of a rainy Sunday, a child crying himself to sleep. Capturing the moment, these small slices of life, these small gusts of happiness, move me more deeply than all the rest. A couple of lines or eight pages, a Middle Eastern stamp or a suburban postmark . . . I hoard all these letters like treasure. One day I hope to fasten them end to end in a half-mile streamer, to float in the wind like a banner raised to the glory of friendship. It will keep the vultures at bay.

  Jean-Dominique Bauby

  Children, Couple, Moving

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• I’m interested in what people do with the chaos in their lives and how they respond to it, and simultaneously what they do with what they feel like are limitations. If they push against these limitations, will they wind up in the realm of chaos, or will they push against limitations and wind up in the world of freedom?

  Philip Roth

  People, World, Chaos

  FaceBook post by Philip Roth from Feb 20, 2012

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• Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light.

  Ernest Hemingway

  Light, Years, Tree

  Ernest Hemingway (2014). “The Hemingway Collection”, p.3236, Simon and Schuster

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• And it's a disquieting thought that not even the past is done with, even that continues to change, as if in reality there is only one time, for everything, one time for every purpose under heaven. One single second, one single landscape, in which what happens activates and deactivates what has already happened in endless chain reactions, like the processes that take place in the brain, perhaps, where cells suddenly bloom and die away, all according to the way the winds of consciousness are blowing.

  Karl Ove Knausgard

  Past, Reality, Cells

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• At Last It's a perfect winter day. No wind. No Arctic freeze. Cloudless azure sky. A day to fly. Snow drapes the mountain like ermine, fabulous feather- light powder coaxing me to flee the confines of my room, brave the mostly plowed road up to the closest ski resort. To run from the cloying silence connected Mom and Dad, into encompassing stillness far away from city dirt and noise Far above suburban gridlock. Far beyond the grasp of home.

  Ellen Hopkins

  Mom, Running, Dad

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