Wind Quotes - Page 97

Thomas More: Will, I'd trust you with my life. But not your principles. You see, we speak of being anchored to our principles. But if the weather turns nasty you up with an anchor and let it down where there's less wind, and the fishing's better. And "Look," we say, "look, I'm anchored! To my principles!

Fall leaves are brilliant with gold and red. You can cup them in your hand and wonder at them, be amazed at their uniqueness and glory. But eventually they are gone, brown, crumbling, scattered on the wind. But the tree remains. The tree is what is important. The tree lives on. That was a difficult knowledge to bear, and an even more difficult life to live. Of course, being the leaf wasn't exactly desirable either.

Sockets are the X windows of IO interfaces.

When you're expecting a baby, there's a lot you can plan for, but when it happens early you just have to jump into it. Whatever plans you had, everything goes out the window.

I'm a very, very handsome man, and have had to come to terms with it... um, do I like the way I look? In the right light, and with a following wind.

Just sit tight. Reinforcements should be here soon. Hopefully nothing happens before-" Lightning crackled overhead. The wind picked up with a vengeance. Worksheets flew into the Grand Canyon, and the entire bridge shuddered. Kids screamed, stumbling and grabbing the rails. "I had to say something," Hedge grumbled. He bellowed into his megaphone: "Everyone inside! The cow says moo! Off the skywalk!" "I thought you said this thing was stable!" Jason shouted over the wind. "Under normal circumstances," Hedge agreed, "which these aren't.

I disobeyed Ra's wishes, and so he ordered my onw father, Shu-" "Hang on," I said. "Shoe?" "S-h-u," she said. "The god of the wind." "On." I wished these gods had names that wearn't common household objects. "Go on, please.

And of course I'm in the press all the time. So many books have been written about me; Into thin air, up in the air,Gone with the wind-

The wind blowing through my ripped clothes was so cold that I felt like a Percysicle.

He understood how dangerous oaths could be. But Leo didn't care. "I'm coming back for you, Calypso," he said to the night wind. "I swear it on the River Styx.

We need to be together." "Why?" I asked softly. The word was carried away on the wind, but he heard. "Because I want you." I gave him a sad smile, wondering if we'd meet again in the land of the dead. "Wrong answer," I told him. I let go

God knows there certainly ought to be a window around here somewhere, for all of us.

People have a different idea of how movies are made than they really are. On a certain level, everyone throws ideas into the hopper. It's not like the actors are wind-up dolls that you push out onto the floor, play with, then put back in the box. You get people around you who you trust; the writer, the producer, the director and all the actors all contribute.

Every one that flatters thee Is no friend in misery. Words are easy, like the wind, Faithful friends are hard to find.

You're using such different muscles and you rely on physicality in live action, but in animation, you totally throw that out the window. But somehow, they're both as satisfying.

I am a child of the poisonous wind that copulated with the East River on an oil-slick, garbage infested midnight. I turn about on my own parentage. I inoculate against those very biles that brought me to light. I am a serum born of venoms. I am the antibody of all Time. I am the Cure. You do of the City, do you not? Manhattan is your punisher, let me be you shield.

When the wind is right, a faint odor of kerosene is exhaled from Senator McCarthy.

It's like one of those scenes from a feel-good Hollywood movie. Where everybody is happy and nobody's hair fizzes in the wind. Where it doesn't rain, your shoes stay comfortable all day, and everybody's jokes are funny.

Hoist the sails of your own spirit to catch the winds of God.

We might as easily reprove the east wind, or the frost, as a political party, whose members, for the most part, could give no account of their position, but stand for the defence of those interests in which they find themselves.

I am a willow of the wilderness, Loving the wind that bent me.

The South-wind brings Life, sunshine and desire, And on every mount and meadow Breathes aromatic fire; But over the dead he has no power, The lost, the lost, he cannot restore; And, looking over the hills, I mourn The darling who shall not return.

For, whom the Muses smile upon, And touch with soft persuasion, His words like a storm-wind can bring Terror and beauty on their wing; In his every syllable Lurketh nature veritable.

What a man does, that he has. What has he to do with hope or fear? In himself is his might. Let him regard no good as solid but that which is in his nature, and which must grow out of him as long as he exists. The goods of fortune may come and go like summer leaves; let him scatter them on every wind as the momentary signs of his infinite productiveness.

The things we now esteem fixed shall, one by one, detach themselves, like ripe fruit, from our experience, and fall. The wind shall blow them none knows whither.