Quotes
Quotes about Clouds
O, it is pleasant, with a heart at ease, Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies, To make the shifting clouds be what you please, Or let the easily persuaded eyes Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould Of a friend's fancy.
Though outwardly a gloomy shroud, The inner half of every cloud Is bright and shining: I therefore turn my clouds about And always wear them inside out To show the lining.
The clouds,--the only birds that never sleep.
But here by the mill the castled clouds Mocked themselves in the dizzy water.
When clouds appear like rocks and towers, The earth's refreshed by frequent showers.
Clouds on clouds, in volumes driven, Curtain round the vault of heaven.
My prophecy is but half his journey yet, For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet.
Far clouds of feathery gold, Shaded with deepest purple, gleam Like islands on a dark blue sea.
Thus when a barber and collier fight, The barber beats the luckless collier--white; The dusty collier heaves his ponderous sack, And, big with vengeance, beats the barber--black. In comes the brick-dust man, with grime o'er spread, And beats the collier and the barber--red; Black, red, and white, in various clouds are toss'd, And in the dust they raise the combatants are lost.
One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to flight better, Sleep to wake.
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before; The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd; darkness had no need Of aid from them--she was the Universe.
Clouds that thunder do not always rain.
This Tharsus, o'er which I have the government, A city on whom Plenty held full hand, For Riches strewed herself even in her streets; Whose towers bore heads so high they kissed the clouds, And strangers ne'er beheld but wond'red at; Whose men and dames so jetted and adorned, Like one another's glass to trim them by; Their tables were stored full, to glad the sight, And not so much to feed on as delight; All poverty was scorned, and pride so great The name of help grew odious to repeat.
Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly, When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky; Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves, When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling doves.
And so, his senses gradually wrapt In a half sleep, he dreams of better worlds, And dreaming hears thee still, O singing lark; That singest like an angel in the clouds.
So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing'd the shaft that quivered in his heart.
Bird of the broad and sweeping wing, Thy home is high in heaven, Where wide the storms their banners fling, And the tempest clouds are driven.
When day is done, and clouds are low, And flowers are honey-dew, And Hesper's lamp begins to glow Along the western blue; And homeward wing the turtle-doves, Then comes the hour the poet loves.
The dawn is overcast, the morning lowers, And heavily in clouds brings on the day, The great, the important day, big with the fate Of Cato, and of Rome.
The clouds dispell'd, the sky resum'd her light, And Nature stood recover'd of her fright. But fear, the last of ills, remain'd behind, And horrow heavy sat on every mind.
Rumor, than which no evil flies more swiftly. She flourishes as she flies, gains strength by mere motion. Small at first and in fear, she soon rises to heaven, Walks upon land and hides her head in the clouds.
He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap.
Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair-- Sorrow and death may not enter there; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, It is there, it is there, my child!
Ah, Hope! what would life be, stripped of thy encouraging smiles, that teach us to look behind the dark clouds of to-day, for the golden beams that are to gild the morrow.
When the heart is enlivened again, it feels like the sun coming out after a week of rainy days. There is hope in the heart that chases the clouds away. Hope is a higher heart frequency and as you begin to reconnect with your heart, hope is waiting to show you new possibilities and arrest the downward spiral of grief and loneliness. It becomes a matter of how soon you want the sun to shine. Listening to the still, small voice in your heart will make hope into a reality. Sara Paddison, The Hidden Power of the Heart Hope is a higher heart frequency, and as you begin to re-connect with your heart, hope is waiting to show you new possibilities and arrest the downward spiral of grief and loneliness. Listening to the still small voice in your heart will make hope into a reality. Benjamin Franklin, preface, Poor Richard's Almanac, 1758 He that lives upon hope will die fasting. -Sara Paddison.
