Quotes about Weather

The weather today is an increasing trend towards denial.

"There's no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing."

If you dont rock the boat, then how will you know whether it can weather the storm.

One watch succeeded another through the day, though how the rabbits judged the passing of the time is something that civilized human beings have lost the power to feel. Creatures that have neither clocks nor books are alive to all manner of knowledge about time and the weather; and about direction too, as we know from their extraordinary migratory and homing journeys. The changes in the warmth and dampness of the soil, the falling of the sunlight patches, the altering movement of the beans in the light wind, the direction and strength of the air currents along the ground - all these were perceived by the rabbit awake.

Iron rusts from disuse; stagnant water loses its purity and in cold weather becomes frozen; even so does inaction sap the vigor of the mind.

Christmas is here: Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill. Little care we; Little we fear Weather without, Sheltered about The Mahogany Tree.

Hell take curtains! Go with some show of inconvenience; sit openly - to the weather as to grief. Or do you think you can shut your grief in?

An inexhaustible good nature is one of the most precious gifts of heaven, spreading itself like oil over the troubled sea of thought, and keeping the mind smooth and equable in the roughest weather.

Why is it that no other species but man gets bored? Under the circumstances in which a man gets bored, a dog goes to sleep. Thought Experiment: Imagine that you are a member of a tour visiting Greece. The group goes to the Parthenon. It is a bore. Few people even bother to look - it looked better in the brochure. So people take half a look, mostly take pictures, remark on the serious erosion by acid rain. You are puzzled. Why should one of the glories and fonts of Western civilization, viewed under pleasant conditions - good weather, good hotel room, good food, good guide - be a bore? Now imagine under what set of circumstances a viewing of the Parthenon would not be a bore. For example, you are a NATO colonel defending Greece against a Soviet assault. You are in a bunker in dowtown Athens, binoculars propped on sandbags. It is dawn. A medium-range missile attack is under way. Half a million Greeks are dead. Two missiles bracket the Parthenon. The next will surely be a hit. Between columns of smoke, a ray of golden light catches the portico. Are you bored? Can you see the Parthenon?

By all these lovely tokens September days are here With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.

All of us could take a lesson from the weather. It pays no attention to criticism.

A local politician was once enmeshed in his own oratory. Said he: "Build a chain-link fence around the winter's supply of summer weather; skim the clouds from the sky with a teaspoon; catch a thundercloud in a saucepan; break a hurricane to harness; quiet and soothe an earthquake; lasso an avalanche; pin a napkin on the crater of an active volcano-but never expect to see me false to my principles."

Only a fool predicts the fate of a marriage, you can do better with the weather.

On a gloomy, rainy morning, it came little eight-year-old Tommy's turn to say the blessing at breakfast. "We thank Thee for this beautiful day," he prayed. His mother asked him why he said that when the day was anything but beautiful. "Mother," said he, with rare wisdom, "never judge a day by its weather."

A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.

Journey of the Magi "A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter." And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, Lying down in the melting snow. There were times we regretted The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces, And the silken girls bringing sherbet. Then the camel men cursing and grumbling And running away, and wanting their liquor and women, And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters, And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly And the villages dirty and charging high prices: A hard time we had of it. At the end we preferred to travel all night, Sleeping in snatches, With the voices singing in our ears, saying That this was all folly. Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley, Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation, With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness, And three trees on the low sky. And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow. Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel, Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver, And feet kicking the empty wine-skins. But there was no information, and so we continued And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory. All this was a long time ago, I remember, And I would do it again, but set down This set down This: were we led all that way for Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly, We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death, But had thought they were different; this Birth was Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death. We returned to our places, these Kingdoms, But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation, With an alien people clutching their gods. I should be glad of another death.

The Bermuda Triangle got tired of warm weather. It moved to Alaska. Now Santa Claus is missing.

Upon the death of his wife: May 16 [1826]- She died at nine in the morning, after being ill for two days-easy at last. I arrived here late last night. For myself, I scarce know how I feel - sometimes as firm as the Bass Rock, sometimes as weak as the waters that break on it. . . . May 18- Another day, and a bright one to the external world, again opens on us; the air soft, and the flowers smiling, and the leaves glittering. They cannot refresh her to whom mild weather was a natural enjoyment. Cerements of lead and wood already hold her; cold earth must have her soon. But it is not my Charlotte, it is not the bride of my youth, the mother of my children, that will be laid among the ruins of Cryburgh, which we have so often visited in gaiety and pastime. No, no. She is sentient and conscious of my emotions somewhere- somehow; where we cannot tell - how we cannot tell; yet would I not this moment renounce her in a better world, for all that this world can give me.

Someday I'll be a weather-beaten skull resting on a grass pillow, Serenaded by a stray bird or two. Kings and commoners end up the same, No more enduring than last night's dream.

That day she put our heads together, Fate had her imagination about her, Your head so much concerned with outer, Mine with inner, weather.

You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.

A bank is a place where they lend you an umbrella in fair weather and ask for it back when it begins to rain.

Life is March weather, savage and serene in one hour.

The trouble with weather forecasting is that it's right too often for us to ignore it and wrong too often for us to rely on it.

If we hadn't our bewitching autumn foliage, we should still have to credit the weather with one feature which compensates for all its bullying vagaries -the ice-storm: when a leafless tree is clothed with ice from the bottom to the top - ice that is as bright and clear as crystal; when every bough and twig is strung with ice-beads, frozen dewdrops, and the whole tree sparkles cold and white, like the Shah of Persia's diamond plume. Then the wind waves the branches and the sun comes out and turns all those myriads of beads and drops to prisms that glow and burn and flash with all manner of colored fires, which change and change again with inconceivable rapidity from blue to red, from red to green, and green to gold -the tree becomes a spraying fountain, a very explosion of dazzling jewels; and it stands there the acme, the climax, the supremest possibility in art or nature, of bewildering, intoxicating, intolerable magnificence. One cannot make the words too strong.

My God would never deliberately bring harm to anyone. But if it happens, if it simply happens due to wind and rain and weather and man's own mistakes, then God has promises to keep: Li£e continuing. An even richer, fuller, brighter ongoing life to compensate.

One of the greatest pleasures to be derived from wealth in any form is the delight inherent in choosing the proper vocational program for one's life. The child who has toys that will amuse him in all kinds of weather is enjoying the luxuries of life. The man who selects the proper vocation in life has all the luxuries that life can provide.

Iron rusts from disuse; stagnant water loses its purity and in cold weather becomes frozen; even so does inaction sap the vigor of the mind.

Don't knock the weather, nine-tenths of the people couldn't start a conversation if it didn't change once in a while.

Don't knock the weather; nine-tenths of the people couldn't start a conversation if it didn't change once in a while.