Mist Quotes - Page 6

• When I reached C Company lines, which were at the top of the hill, I paused and looked back at the camp, just coming into full view below me through the grey mist of early morning.

  Evelyn Waugh

  Morning, Views, Lines

  Evelyn Waugh (2012). “Brideshead Revisited: The Sacred and Profane Memories of Captain Charles Ryder”, p.11, Penguin UK

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• The brooks flow to their lover, the sea, and the flowers smile at the object of their passion, the light. The mist rolls down to its beloved, the valley. And I? In me is what brooks do not know, what flowers do not hear, what the mist does not apprehend. You see me alone in my love, solitary in my yearning.

  Khalil Gibran

  Flower, Passion, Light

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• All the suffering that humanity ever knew can be traced to the one fact that no man in the history of the Galaxy ... could really understand one another. Every human being lived behind an impenetrable wall of choking mist within which no other but he existed.

  Isaac Asimov

  Wall, Loneliness, Men

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• Life and the Universe show spontaneity;Down with ridiculous notions of Deity!Churches and creeds are lost in the mists;Truth must be sought with the Positivists.

  Mortimer Collins

  Religion, Church, Deities

  Mortimer Collins, F. Percy Cotton (1886). “Selections from the Poetical Works of Mortimer Collins”

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• A voice of greeting from the wind was sent; The mists enfolded me with soft white arms; The birds did sing to lap me in content, The rivers wove their charms, And every little daisy in the grass Did look up in my face, and smile to see me pass!

  Richard Henry Stoddard

  Nature, Voice, Rivers

  Richard Henry STODDARD (1852). “Poems”, p.56

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• Fifty years from now Britain will still be the country of long shadows on county grounds, warm beer, invincible green suburbs, dog lovers and pools fillers and - as George Orwell said - “old maids bicycling to Holy Communion through the morning mist” and if we get our way - Shakespeare still read even in school.

  John Major

  Country, Dog, Morning

  John Major's speech to the Conservative Group for Europe, www.johnmajor.co.uk. April 22, 1993.

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• Suicide is what everyone young thinks they'll do before they get old. But they hardly ever get round to it. They just don't want to commit themselves in that way. When you're young and you look ahead, time ends in mist at twenty-five. 'Old won't happen to me', you say. But old does. Oh, old does. Old always gets you in the end.

  Martin Amis

  Suicide, Thinking, Age

  Martin Amis (1981). “Other people: a mystery story”, Jonathan Cape

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• Sawbeaked epitome of bodiless Idea, tossed by gusts of ether, dive Through abstract mists and raid the sea of fact Eat rich strange fish, grow long bright feathers, press Form's flesh around thought's rib, and so derive From the act of beauty, beauty of the act.

  Philip Jose Farmer

  Sea, Ideas, Long

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• Every human being lived behind an impenetrable wall of choking mist within which no other but he existed. Occasionally there were the dim signals from deep within the cavern in which another man was located so that each might grope toward the other. Yet because they did not know one another, and could not understand one another, and dared not trust one another, and felt from infancy the terrors and insecurity of that ultimate isolation there was the hunted fear of man for man, the savage rapacity of man toward man.

  Isaac Asimov

  Wall, Men, Insecurity

  Isaac Asimov (2004). “Second Foundation”, p.100, Spectra

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• The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said; But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.

  John Milton

  Sheep, Doors, Wind

  'Lycidas' (1638) l. 123

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• The mist starts to form as we stand close to one another. It is a distant fog that rises from the horizon, and I find that I grow fearful as it approaches. It slowly creeps in, enveloping the world around us, fencing us in as if to prevent escape. Like a rolling cloud, it blankets everything, closing, until there is nothing left but the two of us.

  Nicholas Sparks

  Clouds, Fog, Two

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• No monster vibration, no snake universe hallucinations. Many tiny jeweled violet flowers along the path of a living brook that looked like Blake's illustration for a canal in grassy Eden: huge Pacific watery shore, Orlovsky dancing naked like Shiva long-haired before giant green waves, titanic cliffs that Wordsworth mentioned in his own Sublime, great yellow sun veiled with mist hanging over the planet's oceanic horizon. No harm.

  Allen Ginsberg

  Flower, Snakes, Yellow

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• Before the world was made, when it was only darkness and mist and waters, God was well aware of Lake Wobegon, my family, our house, and He had me all sketched out down to what size my feet would be (big), which bike I would ride (Schwinn), and the five ears of corn I'd eat for supper that night.

  Garrison Keillor

  God, Night, Lakes

  Garrison Keillor (1990). “Lake Wobegon Days”, p.18, Penguin

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• You cannot depict love inside a frame of fact. It needs a mist to dissolve in.

  Stephen Leacock

  Needs, Facts

  Stephen Leacock, Gerald Lynch (2002). “Leacock on Life”, p.88, University of Toronto Press

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• On a late-winter evening in 1983, while driving through fog along the Maine coast, recollections of old campfires began to drift into the March mist, and I thought of the Abnaki Indians of the Algonquin tribe who dwelt near Bangor a thousand years ago.

  Norman Mailer

  Winter, Fog, Years

  Norman Mailer (2007). “Harlot's Ghost: A Novel”, p.15, Random House

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• Coleridge: poet and philosopher wrecked in a mist of opium.

  Matthew Arnold

  Philosopher, Poet, Opium

  Matthew Arnold (1939). “Poetry & prose”

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• Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness—to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

  John Keats

  Summer, Dream, Spring

  John Keats (1847). “The Poetical Works of John Keats”, p.244

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• I do Sierra Mist commercials not because they pay me a lot of money or because it only takes a couple of days. I do it because I have a respect for all sodas and I like to communicate that. Some people say soda, some people say pop, where I'm from in Indiana they called it breakfast.

  Jim Gaffigan

  Couple, People, Breakfast

  Source: www.washingtonpost.com

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• As the evening mist worked its way into the scene, creating a warm filter through which the lowering sun bathed its light, it was all I could to to keep painting, and not just put my brushes down and soak it all in. Which, of course, I did for a while anyway.

  Cory Trepanier

  Light, Creating, Filters

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• As this world becomes increasingly ugly, callous and materialistic it needs to be reminded that the old fairy stories are rooted in truth, that imagination is of value, that happy endings do, in fact, occur, and that the blue spring mist that make an ugly street look beautiful is just as real a thing as the street itself.

  Elizabeth Goudge

  Beautiful, Spring, Real

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• O little souls! as pure as white And crystalline as rays of light Direct from heaven, their source divine; Refracted through the mist of years, How red my setting sun appears, How lurid looks this soul of mine!

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Years, White, Light

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1867). “The Poetical Works of H. W. Longfellow. Complete Edition”, p.331

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• Under the desert sun, in the dogmatic clarity, the fables of theology and the myths of classical philosophy dissolve like mist. The air is clean, the rock cuts cruelly into flesh; shatter the rock and the odor of flint rises to your nostrils, bitter and sharp. Whirlwinds dance across the salt flats, a pillar of dust by day; the thornbush breaks into flame at night. What does it mean? It means nothing. It is as it is and has no need for meaning. The desert lies beneath and soars beyond any possible human qualification. Therefore, sublime.

  Edward Abbey

  Philosophy, Lying, Mean

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• O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow, Make the day seem to us less brief... Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst.

  Robert Frost

  Morning, Autumn, Land

  Robert Frost, Gary D. Schmidt (1994). “Robert Frost”, p.23, Sterling Publishing Company, Inc.

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• Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha the Beloved, In the glory of the sunset, In the purple mists of evening, To the regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Land of the Hereafter!

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Blessed, Sunset, Home

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, George Housman Thomas (1860). “The Song of Hiawatha ... Illustrated by John Gilbert”, p.211

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• We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Heaven, Lamps, May

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1871). “The Poetical Works”, p.134

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