Mist Quotes - Page 15

• All day, the colors had been those of dusk, mist moving like a water creature across the great flanks of mountains possessed of ocean shadows and depths.

  Kiran Desai

  Ocean, Moving, Color

  Kiran Desai (2007). “The Inheritance of Loss”, p.1, Grove/Atlantic, Inc.

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• The truth is that our only safety, our only security, our only hope is to hold fast to that which is good. As the mists of darkness gather around us, we are only lost if we choose to let go of the iron rod, which is the word of God.

  David S. Baxter

  Letting Go, Iron, Safety

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• The hill pines were sighing,
  O'ercast and chill was the day;
  A mist in the valley lying
  Blotted the pleasant May.

  Robert Bridges

  Lying, May, Valleys

  Robert Bridges (1899). “Poetical Works of Robert Bridges: Shorter poems. New poems. Notes”

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• Love's secrets, being mysteries, ever pertain to the transcendent and the infinite; and so they are as airy bridges, by which ourfurther shadows pass over into the regions of the golden mists and exhalations; whence all poetical, lovely thoughts are engendered, and drop into us, as though pearls should drop from rainbows.

  Herman Melville

  Love, Bridges, Rainbow

  Herman Melville (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Herman Melville (Illustrated)”, p.2384, Delphi Classics

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• Dappled sunlight and looked at the silver vapor swirling inside. "Mist gathered at first light on the first day of the new moon on the Isle of Avalon," he said. "Yep. Good for one hour of great talent," said Annie. Jack smiled, remembering their hour as horse trainers and their hour as stage magicians. "I wonder what we'll be great at this time," he said. "Maybe great nurses?" said Annie. "We'll see," said Jack. He put the tiny bottle in his backpack; then he picked up the piece of paper from the floor. On the paper he had written the two secrets of greatness they'd

  Mary Pope Osborne

  Horse, Moon, Greatness

  Mary Pope Osborne (2014). “High Time for Heroes”, p.11, Random House Books for Young Readers

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• Hence the strong attraction which magic and science alike have exercised on the human mind; hence the powerful stimulus that both have given to the pursuit of knowledge. They lure the weary enquirer, the footsore seeker, on through the wilderness of disappointment in the present by their endless promises of the future: they take him up to the top of an exceeding high mountain and show him, beyond the dark clouds and rolling mists at his feet, a vision of the celestial city, far off, it may be, but radiant with unearthly splendour, bathed in the light of dreams.

  James G. Frazer

  Dream, Strong, Powerful

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• When you were a wandering desire in the mist, I too was there, a wandering desire. Then we sought one another, and out of our eagerness dreams were born. And dreams were time limitless, and dreams were space without measure.

  Khalil Gibran

  Dream, Space, Desire

  Khalil Gibran (2007). “Kahlil Gibran: Masterpieces”

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• How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures; nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven: In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark blue depths; Beneath her steady ray The desert circle spreads Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. How beautiful is night!

  Robert Southey

  Beautiful, Ocean, Dark

  Robert Southey, Henry Theodore Tuckerman (1884). “The Poetical Works of Robert Southey: With a Memoir ...”

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• God was something I did not understand the way kids who went to church did. They said God was a man in the sky with white hair and a beard like Santa. This seemed strange to me. When I thought of God, I imagined only mist over the pond, a sliver of moon in a dark sky, scatterings of stars, birdsong.

  Melissa Coleman

  Stars, Kids, Dark

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• Dark, dark! The horror of darkness, like a shroud, wraps me and bears me on through mist and cloud.

  Sophocles

  Halloween, Dark, Clouds

  Sophocles (2016). “Oedipus the King, Oedipus at Colonus, Antigone”, p.85, Sophocles

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• Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?

  Dodie Smith

  Summer, Autumn, Cute Summer

  Dodie Smith (2017). “I Capture the Castle: Young Adult Edition”, p.390, St. Martin's Griffin

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• There in the mist, enormous, majestic, silent and terrible, stood the Great Wall of China. Solitarily, with the indifference of nature herself, it crept up the mountain side and slipped down to the depth of the valley.

  W. Somerset Maugham

  Wall, Mountain, Depth

  W. Somerset Maugham (2015). “On a Chinese Screen”, p.62, Simon and Schuster

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• On motionless wing they emerge from the lifting mists, sweep a final arc of sky, and settle in clangorous descending spirals to their feeding grounds. A new day has begun on the crane marsh.

  Aldo Leopold

  Sky, Wings, New Day

  Aldo Leopold (1968). “A Sand County Almanac: And Sketches Here and There”, p.91, Oxford University Press

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• There is an unseen sweetness in the stomach’s emptiness. We are lutes. When the sound box is filled, no music can come forth. When the brain and the belly burn from fasting, every moment a new song rises out of the fire. The mists clear, and a new vitality makes you spring up the steps before you . . .

  Rumi

  Song, Spring, Fire

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• While fame impedes and constricts, obscurity wraps about a man like a mist; obscurity is dark, ample, and free; obscurity lets the mind take its way unimpeded. Over the obscure man is poured the merciful suffusion of darkness. None knows where he goes or comes. He may seek the truth and speak it; he alone is free; he alone is truthful, he alone is at peace.

  Virginia Woolf

  Humility, Dark, Men

  Virginia Woolf (2007). “Selected Works of Virginia Woolf”, p.447, Wordsworth Editions

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• It's too easy, you see, to get trapped in the past. The past is very seductive. People always talk about the mists of time, you know, but really it's the present that's in a mist, uncertain. The past is quite clear, and warm, and comforting. That's why people often get stuck there.

  Susanna Kearsley

  Past, People, Seductive

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• Why should we live halfway up the hill and swathed in the mists, when we might have an unclouded sky and a radiant sun over our heads if we would climb higher and walk in the light of His face?

  Alexander MacLaren

  Light, Sky, Might

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• Sure, I’m dramatic and sloppily semi-cynical and semi-sentimental. But, in leisure years I could grow and choose my way. Now I am living on the edge. We all are on the brink, and it takes a lot of nerve, a lot of energy, to teeter on the edge, looking over, looking down into the windy blackness and not being quite able to make out, through the yellow, stinking mist, just what lies below in the slime, in the oozing, vomit-streaked slime; and so I could go on, my thoughts, writing much, trying to find the core, the meaning for myself.

  Sylvia Plath

  Lying, Writing, Years

  Sylvia Plath (2007). “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”, p.32, Anchor

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• In a mist the heights can for the most part see each other; but the valleys cannot.

  Augustus William Hare

  Inspirational, Valleys, Height

  Julius Charles Hare, Augustus William Hare, Edward Hayes Plumptre (1871). “Guesses at Truth”, p.185

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• Wherever I am, the world comes after me. It offers me its busyness. It does not believe that I do not want it. Now I understand why the old poets of China went so far and high into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist.

  Mary Oliver

  Believe, Mountain, Doe

  Mary Oliver (2004). “Why I Wake Early: New Poems”, p.50, Beacon Press

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• So dull and dark are the November days. The lazy mist high up the evening curled, And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze; The place we occupy seems all the world.

  John Clare

  Dark, Lazy, World

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• If you give your soul up to anything earthly, whether it be the wealth, or the honours, or the pleasures of this world, you might as well hunt after the mirage of the desert or try to collect the mists of the morning, or to store up for yourself the clouds of the sky, for all these things are passing away.

  Charles Spurgeon

  Morning, Clouds, Sky

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• She sat down on one of her grandmother's uncomfortable armchairs, and the cat sprang up into her lap and made itself comfortable. The light that came through the picture window was daylight, real golden late-afternoon daylight, not a white mist light. The sky was a robin's-egg blue, and Coraline could see trees and, beyond the trees, green hills, which faded on the horizon into purples and grays. The sky had never seemed so sky, the world had never seemed so world ... Nothing, she thought, had ever been so interesting.

  Neil Gaiman

  Real, Cat, Grandmother

  Neil Gaiman (2012). “Coraline”, p.162, A&C Black

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• Out of the silver heat mirage he ran. The sky burned, and under him the paving was a black mirror reflecting sun-fire. Sweat sprayed his skin with each foot strike so that he ran in a hot mist of his own creation. With each slap on the softened asphalt, his soles absorbed heat that rose through his arches and ankles and the stems of his shins. It was a carnival of pain, but he loved each stride because running distilled him to his essence and the heat hastened this distillation.

  James Tabor

  Running, Pain, Fire

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• That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain.

  Ray Bradbury

  Country, Twilight, Rain

  Ray Bradbury (2013). “The October Country”, p.7, Harper Collins

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