I stood checked for a moment – awe, not fear, fell upon me – and whist I stood, a solemn wind began to blow, the most mournful that ever ear heard. Mournful! That is saying nothing. It was a wind that had swept the fields of mortality for a hundred centuries.

Surely everyone is aware of the divine pleasures which attend a wintry fireside; candles at four o’clock, warm hearthrugs, tea, a fair tea-maker, shutters closed, curtains flowing in ample draperies to the floor, whilst the wind and rain are raging audibly without

Distance is to love as wind is to fire. Blows out the little ones and fans the big ones.

There, like the wind through woods in riot,
Through him the gale of life blew high;
The tree of man was never quiet:
Then ’twas the Roman, now ’tis I.

No matter how breathless the air when he dug his nest by tree or bank, the wind the later blew inevitably found him to leeward, sheltered and snug

There are days when I feel so lightly connected to the earth that the threads that tether me to the planet are gossamer thin, spun sugar. A strong gust of wind could dislodge me completely, and I’d lift off and blow away, like one of those seeds in a dandelion clock. The threads tighten slightly from Monday to Friday.

Lantern-shine, dim but kind – No starkness in darkness – Even I please the eye. Outside, wind and rain, Weather’s fitful wax and wane. Tomorrow’s sun will reveal What night conceals. All we lack, regret, know, Forgotten in lamp-oil glow.

The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails

Watching people toss all caution to the wind, who are ready to put their lives on the line for a dream, is something that is accessible.

Those horses must have been Spanish jennets, born of mares mated with a zephyr; for they went as swiftly as the wind, and the moon, which had risen at our departure to give us light, rolled through the sky like a wheel detached from its carriage

Books are windows to different worlds

The fact remains that we are invited to forget ourselves on purpose, cast our awful solemnity to the wind, and join in the general Dance

Nothing has ever been said about God that hasn’t already been said better by the wind in the pine treesf

The sky is my prayer, the birds are my prayer, the wind in the trees is my prayer, for God is all in all.

Curiosity ran unchecked through him, like the wind outside through the deserted streets, along the canal, around the little wooden houses, everywhere, as far as the mountain.

Anywhere the wind blows

Doesn’t really matter to me

If you wind up with a boring, miserable life because you listened to your mother, your Dad, your priest, to some guy on television, to any of the people telling you how to do your shit, then you deserve it

By all evidence we are in the world to do nothing; but instead of nonchalantly promenading our own corruption, we exude our sweat and grow winded upon the fetid air.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day.

You get your wind back, remember the finish line, and keep going.

You must take personal responsibility. You cannot change the circumstances, the seasons, or the wind, but you can change yourself. That is something you have charge of.

If a bird is flying for pleasure, it flies with the wind, but if it meets danger it turns and faces the wind, in order that it may rise higher.

When the wind blows,the grass bends.

The willow is my favorite tree. I grew up near one. It’s the most flexible tree in nature and nothing can break it – no wind, no elements, it can bend and withstand anything.

Stand firm as the tower that never shakes its top whatever wind may blow.

O human race, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?

Be like a solid tower whose brave height remains unmoved by all the winds that blow; the man who lets his thoughts be turned aside by one thing or another, will lose sight of his true goal, his mind sapped of its strength.

God keeps a file for our prayers. They are not blown away by the wind, they are treasured in the King’s archives.

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.

No wind favors he who has no destined port.

Even as a solid rock is unshaken by the wind, so are the wise unshaken by praise or blame.

The winds that sometimes take something we love, are the same that bring us something we learn to love

You say you love rain, but you use an umbrella to walk under it. You say you love sun, but you seek shelter when it is shining. You say you love wind, but when it comes you close your windows. So that’s why I’m scared when you say you love me

You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows

My tomb shall be in a spot where the north wind may scatter roses over it.

Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.

To reach a port we must sail, sometimes with the wind, and sometimes against it. But we must not drift or lie at anchor.

Straw shows which way the wind is blowing

The little reed, bending to the force of the wind, soon stood upright again when the storm had passed over

The wind cannot defeat a tree with strong roots.

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No tree becomes rooted and sturdy unless many a wind assails it. For by its very tossing it tightens its grip and plants its roots more securely; the fragile trees are those that have grown in a sunny valley.

Far away, our dreams have nothing to do with what we do. The wind carries the night, and passes on, aimless.