Rain Quotes - Page 14

• One day he said, "I'll tell this town How it feels to be an unfunny clown." And he told them all why he looked so sad, And he told them all why he felt so bad. He told of Pain and Rain and Cold, He told of Darkness in his soul, And after he finished his tale of woe, Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no, They laughed until they shook the trees... And while the world laughed outside. Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.

  Shel Silverstein

  Pain, Tree, Soul

  Shel Silverstein, “Cloony The Clown”

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• Be wild; that is how to clear the river. The river does not flow in polluted, we manage that. The river does not dry up, we block it. If we want to allow it its freedom, we have to allow our ideational lives to be let loose, to stream, letting anything come, initially censoring nothing. That is creative life. It is made up of divine paradox. To create one must be willing to be stone stupid, to sit upon a throne on top of a jackass and spill rubies from one’s mouth. Then the river will flow, then we can stand in the stream of it raining down.

  Clarissa Pinkola Estes

  Art, Block, Stupid

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• To whatever end. Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountains. Like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the west. Behind the hills, into shadow. How did it come to this?

  J. R. R. Tolkien

  Horse, Wind, Shadow

  "Fictional character: Théoden". "The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers", 2002.

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• He was the crazy one who had painted himself black and defeated the world. She was the book thief without the words. Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.

  Markus Zusak

  Patience, Crazy, Book

  Markus Zusak (2016). “The Book Thief: 10th Anniversary Edition”, p.62, Random House

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• I once lay in a white hospital for the dying and the dying self, where some god pissed a rain of reason to make things grow only to die, where on my knees I prayed for LIGHT, I prayed for l*i*g*h*t, and praying crawled like a blind slug into the web where threads of wind stuck against my mind and I died of pity for Man, for myself, on a cross without nails, watching in fear as the pig belches in his sty, farts, blinks and eats.

  Charles Bukowski

  Men, Wind, White

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• People talk about the beauty of the spring, but I can't see it. The trees are brown and bare, slimy with rain. Some are crawling with new purple hairs. And the buds are bulging like tumorous acne, and I can tell that something wet, and soft, and cold, and misshapen is about to be born. And I am turning into a vampire.

  Matthew Tobin Anderson

  Spring, Hair, Purple

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• you said Is there anything which is dead or alive more beautiful than my body,to have in your fingers (trembling ever so little)? Looking into your eyes Nothing,i said,except the air of spring smelling of never and forever. ....and through the lattice which moved as if a hand is touched by a hand(which moved as though fingers touch a girl's breast, lightly) Do you believe in always,the wind said to the rain I am too busy with my flowers to believe,the rain answered

  e. e. cummings

  Beautiful, Girl, Spring

  E. E. Cummings (2013). “Like a perhaps hand: Poems. Gedichte”, p.10, C.H.Beck

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• With the rain, falls the wisdom of heaven.

  Paulo Coelho

  Fall, Heaven

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• It took a qualified wizard to detect a summoning in progress. It required only a half-literate idiot with a twitch of power and a dim idea of how to use it to attempt one. Before you knew it, a three-headed Slavonic god was wreaking havoc in downtown Atlanta, the skies were raining winged snakes, and SWAT was screaming for more ammo.

  Ilona Andrews

  Atlanta, Sky, Snakes

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• A summer rain had left the night clean and sparkling with drops of water. I leaned against the end pillar of the gallery, my head touching the soft tendrils of a jasmine which grew there in a constant battle with a wisteria, and I thought of what lay before me throughout the world and throughout time, and resolved to go about it delicately and reverently, learning that from each thing which would take me best to another.

  Anne Rice

  Summer, Night, Water

  Anne Rice (2011). “The Vampire Chronicles Collection: Interview with the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, The Queen of the Damned”, p.50, Ballantine Books

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• When the weather's rough and it's whiskey in the rain it's best to wrap your savior up in cellophane.

  Tom Waits

  Weather, Whiskey, Rough

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• There would be hard times, but what did I care if we had hard times? The branches of my love were wide, and they caught the rain and the snow. We would be okay, the two of us together. We would be okay.

  Carolyn Parkhurst

  Hard Times, Two, Snow

  Carolyn Parkhurst (2003). “The Dogs of Babel”, Large Print Press

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• Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain, And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again.

  John Masefield

  Travel, Stars, Sleep

  John Masefield (1978). “Selected poems”, Not Avail

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• Arab children, Corn ears of the future, You will break our chains, Kill the opium in our heads, Kill the illusions. Arab children, Don't read about our suffocated generation, We are a hopeless case. We are as worthless as a water-melon rind. Dont read about us, Dont ape us, Dont accept us, Dont accept our ideas, We are a nation of crooks and jugglers. Arab children, Spring rain, Corn ears of the future, You are the generation That will overcome defeat.

  Nizar Qabbani

  Children, Spring, Ideas

  Nizar Qabbani, “Verse”

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• Witch Baby wanted to ask Ping how to find her Jah-Love angel. She knew Raphael was not him, even though Raphael had the right eyes and smile and name. She knew how he looked--the angel in her dream--but she didn't know how to find him. Should she roller-skate through the streets in the evenings when the streetlights flicker on? Should she stow away to Jamaica on a cruise ship and search for him in the rain forests and along the beaches? Would he come to her? Was he waiting, dreaming of her in the same way she waited and dreamed?

  Francesca Lia Block

  Dream, Baby, Beach

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• When they made love Geryon liked to touch in slow succession each of the bones of Herakles' back as it arched away from him into who knows what dark dream of its own, running both hands all the way down from the base of the neck to the end of the spine which he can cause to shiver like a root in the rain.

  Anne Carson

  Running, Dream, Dark

  Anne Carson (1998). “Autobiography of Red: A Novel in Verse”, Knopf

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• For time and eternity there have been fathers like Nathan who simply can see no way to have a daughter but to own her like a plot of land. To work her, plow her under, rain down a dreadful poison upon her. Miraculously, it causes these girls to grow. They elongate on the pale slender stalks of their longing, like sunflowers with heavy heads. You can shield them with your body and soul, trying to absorb that awful rain, but they'll still move toward him. Without cease they'll bend to his light.

  Barbara Kingsolver

  Girl, Daughter, Father

  Barbara Kingsolver (2008). “The Poisonwood Bible”, p.162, Faber & Faber

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• A sudden gust of rain blew over them and then another - as if small liquid clouds were bouncing along the land. Lightning entered the sea far off and the air blew full of crackling thunder. The table cloths blew around the pillars. They blew and blew and blew. The flags twisted around the red chairs like live things, the banners were ragged, the corners of the table tore off through the burbling billowing ends of the cloths.

  F. Scott Fitzgerald

  Clouds, Air, Sea

  F. Scott Fitzgerald (2009). “The Crack-Up”, p.104, New Directions Publishing

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• But there is something about Time. The sun rises and sets. The stars swing slowly across the sky and fade. Clouds fill with rain and snow, empty themselves, and fill again. The moon is born, and dies, and is reborn. Around millions of clocks swing hour hands, and minute hands, and second hands. Around goes the continual circle of the notes of the scale. Around goes the circle of night and day, the circle of weeks forever revolving, and of months, and of years.

  Madeleine L'Engle

  Stars, Moon, Night

  Madeleine L'Engle (1968). “Prelude”

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• Rain falls on everyone, lightning strikes some. What cannot be changed is best forgotten. God made the world, and He saw that it was good. Not fair. Not happy. Not perfect. Good.

  Mary Doria Russell

  Fall, Perfect, Lightning

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• I will start out this evening with an assertion: fantasy is a place where it rains.

  Italo Calvino

  Evening, Fantasy, Assertion

  Italo Calvino (1988). “Six Memos for the Next Millennium”, p.81, Harvard University Press

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• There is a moon shaped rictus in the streetlamp's globe where a stone has gone and from this aperture there drifts down through the constant helix of aspiring insects a faint and steady rain of the same forms burnt and lifeless.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Moon, Gone, Stones

  Cormac McCarthy (2010). “Suttree”, p.4, Pan Macmillan

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• It always smelled like it was raining outside, even if it wasn't, and you were in the only nice, dry, cosy place in the world.

  J. D. Salinger

  Nice, World, Dry

  J. D. SALINGER (1951). “THE CATCHER IN THE RYE”

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• Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things, Blue waves whitened on a cliff, Soaring fire that sways and sings, And children's faces looking up, Holding wonder like a cup. Life has loveliness to sell, Music like a curve of gold, Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes that love you, arms that hold, And for your spirit's still delight, Holy thoughts that star the night. Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost; For one white singing hour of peace Count many a year of strife well lost, And for a breath of ecstasy Give all you have been, or could be.

  Sara Teasdale

  Life, Beautiful, Stars

  Sara Teasdale, William Drake (1984). “Mirror of the Heart: Poems of Sara Teasdale”, MacMillan Publishing Company

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• Clambering up the Cold Mountain path, The Cold Mountain trail goes on and on: The long gorge choked with scree and boulders, The wide creek, the mist-blurred grass. The moss is slippery, though there's been no rain The pine sings, but there's no wind. Who can leap the world's ties And sit with me among the white clouds?

  Gary Snyder

  Clouds, Wind, White

  Gary Snyder (2010). “Riprap and Cold Mountain Poems”, p.46, Counterpoint Press

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