Quotes
Quotes about Storms
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye:
Give him a little earth for charity!
A fiery soul, which, working out its way,
Fretted the pygmy-body to decay,
And o'er-inform'd the tenement of clay.
A daring pilot in extremity;
Pleas'd with the danger, when the waves went high
He sought the storms.
A brave man struggling in the storms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling state.
While Cato gives his little senate laws,
What bosom beats not in his country's cause?
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the force of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storms may enter, the rain may enter,--but the King of England cannot enter; all his forces dare not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement!
How small of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!
Still to ourselves in every place consigned,
Our own felicity we make or find.
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
So fades a summer cloud away;
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er;
So gently shuts the eye of day;
So dies a wave along the shore.
Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art.
Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life,
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!
For many years I was self-appointed inspector of snow-storms and rain-storms and did my duty faithfully.
Ye that follow the vision
Of the world's weal afar,
Have ye met with derision
And the red laugh of war?
Yet the thunder shall not hurt you
Nor the battle storms dismay;
Tho' the sun in heaven desert you
"Love will find out the way."
Courage is not the towering oak that sees storms come and go; it is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow.
Courage is not the towering oak that sees storms come and go; it is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow.
The quarrels of lovers are like summer storms. Everything is more beautiful when they have passed.
Who know but He, whose hand the lightning forms, Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms, Pours fierce ambition in a Caesar's mind.
I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming of storms.
Commemoration of Johann Sebastian Bach, musician, 1750 Jesus, priceless treasure, source of purest pleasure Truest friend to me; Long my heart has panted, till it well-nigh fainted, Thirsting after Thee. Thine I am, O spotless Lamb; I will suffer naught to hide Thee, Ask for naught beside Thee. In Thine arm I rest me; foes who would molest me Cannot reach me here. Though the earth be shaking, every heart be quaking, God dispels our fear. Sin and hell in conflict fell With their heaviest storms assail us: Jesus will not fail us. Hence, all thoughts of sadness! For the Lord of gladness, Jesus, enters in: Those who love the Father, though the storms may gather, Still have peace within; Yes, whate'er we here must bear, Still in Thee lies purest pleasure, Jesus, priceless treasure!
So fades a summer cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day; So dies a wave along the shore.
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.
Nail to the mast her holy flag, Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the God of storms, The lightning and the gale.
Creator Venus, genial power of love, The bliss of men below, and gods above! Beneath the sliding sun thou runn'st thy race, Dost fairest shine, and best become thy place; For thee the winds their eastern blasts forbear, Thy mouth reveals the spring, and opens all the year; Thee, goddess, thee, the storms of winter fly, Earth smiles with flowers renewing, laughs the sky.
The grave is still the best shelter against the storms of destiny.
Methinks I am a prophet new inspired And thus, expiring, do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small show'rs last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding doth choke the feeder; Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
High above hate I dwell, O storms! farewell.
Loquacity storms the ear, but modesty takes the heart. -Thomas Fuller.
