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Best Clouds Quotes Collection
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The cloud maze. “ an excursion in dimension a climb though the firmament; there is no beginning there is no end enter where you please leave when you wish have no fear of falling
Celia laughs and a curl of her hair falls across her cheek. marco tentatively moves to brush it off her face, but before his fingers reach her, she pushes herself off the ledge, her silver gown a billowing cloud as she falls onto the pile of jewel-toned cushions.
At the center, where a cuckoo bird would live in a more traditional timepiece, is the juggler. dressed in harlequin style with a grey mask, he juggles shiny silver balls that correspond to each hour. as the clock chimes, another ball joins the rest until at midnight he juggles twelve balls in a complex pattern. after midnight the clock begins once more to fold in upon itself. the face lightens and the clouds return. the number of juggled balls decreases until the juggler himself vanishes. by noon it is a clock again, and no longer a dream.
I was thirty-seven then, strapped in my seat as the huge 747 plunged through dense cloud cover on approach to the hamburg airport.
You’re here,” i continued. “at least you look as if you’re here. but maybe you aren’t. maybe it’s just your shadow. the real you may be someplace else. or maybe you already disappeared, a long, long time ago. i reach out my hand to see, but you’ve hidden yourself behind a cloud of probablys. do you think we can go on like this forever?
The thoughts that occur to me while i’m running are like clouds in the sky. clouds of all different sizes. they come and they go, while the sky remains the same sky always. the clouds are mere guests in the sky that pass away and vanish, leaving behind the sky.
Lonliness evaporated off of them like the steam off dry ice, and by morning it was just a cloud on the ceiling of the room, then gone with the light.
I was walking along a road one evening – on one side lay the city, and below me was the fjord. the sun went down – the clouds were stained red, as if with blood. i felt as though the whole of nature was screaming – it seemed as though i could hear a scream. i painted that picture, painting the clouds like real blood. the colours screamed.
I sense a scream passing through nature. i painted ... the clouds as actual blood. the colour shrieked.
Ah, hope! what would life be, stripped of thy encouraging smiles, that teach us to look behind the dark clouds of today, for the golden beams that are to gild the morrow.
The axe and saw are insanely busy, chips are flying thick as snowflakes, and every summer thousands of acres of priceless forests, with their underbrush, soil, springs, climate, scenery, and religion, are vanishing away in clouds of smoke, while, except in the national parks, not one forest guard is employed.
Who reports the works and ways of the clouds, those wondrous creations coming into being every day like freshly upheaved mountains?
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