#fog

Desire is like fog on a bathroom mirror -- its presence incites you to wipe the mirror, and see yourself clearly again. ↗

— Vera Nazarian

#fog #mirror #perception #inspirational

The fog was where I wanted to be. Halfway down the path you can’t see this house. You’d never know it was here. Or any of the other places down the avenue. I couldn’t see but a few feet ahead. I didn’t meet a soul. Everything looked and sounded unreal. Nothing was what it is. That’s what I wanted—to be alone with myself in another world where truth is untrue and life can hide from itself. Out beyond the harbor, where the road runs along the beach, I even lost the feeling of being on land. The fog and the sea seemed part of each other. It was like walking on the bottom of the sea. As if I had drowned long ago. As if I was the ghost belonging to the fog, and the fog was the ghost of the sea. It felt damned peaceful to be nothing more than a ghost within a ghost. ↗

— Eugene O'Neill

#fog #ghost #ghosts #ocean #sea

In our passage from the Cape of Good Hope the winds were mostly from the westward with very boisterous weather: but one great advantage that this season of the year has over the summer months is in being free from fogs. ↗

— William Bligh

#being #boisterous #cape #fogs #free

Even as fog continues to lie in the valleys, so does ancient sin cling to the low places, the depressions in the world consciousness. ↗

— Dewitt Bodeen

#cling #consciousness #continues #depressions #does

Also, as I lay there thinking of my vision, I could see it all again and feel the meaning with a part of me like a strange power glowing in my body; but when the part of me that talks would try to make words for the meaning, it would be like fog and get away from me. ↗

— Black Elk

#also #away #body #could #feel

Composing is like driving down a foggy road toward a house. Slowly you see more details of the house-the color of the slates and bricks, the shape of the windows. The notes are the bricks and the mortar of the house. ↗

— Benjamin Britten

#color #composing #details #down #driving

Truth is the torch that gleams through the fog without dispelling it. ↗

— Claude Adrien Helvetius

#gleams #through #torch #truth #truth is

Most consequential choices involve shades of gray, and some fog is often useful in getting things done. ↗

— Timothy Geithner

#done #fog #getting #gray #involve

It’s easier to hide your smoking habit on a foggy day. Let that be a lesson for you and your secret lover.
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#cheating #foggy #funny #hide #hiding

Children of her type contrive the purest philosophies. Ada had worked out her own little system. Hardly a week had elapsed since Van’s arrival when he was found worthy of being initiated in her web of wisdom. An individual’s life consisted of certain classified things: "real things" which were unfrequent and priceless, simply "things" which formed the routine stuff of life; and "ghost things," also called "fogs," such as fever, toothache, dreadful disappointments, and death. Three or more things occurring at the same time formed a "tower," or, if they came in immediate succession, they made a "bridge." "Real towers" and "real bridges" were the joys of life, and when the towers came in a series, one experienced supreme rapture; it almost never happened, though. In some circumstances, in a certain light, a neutral "thing" might look or even actually become "real" or else, conversely, it might coagulate into a fetid "fog." When the joy and the joyless happened to be intermixed, simultaneously or along the ramp of duration, one was confronted with "ruined towers" and "broken bridges. ↗

— Vladimir Nabokov

#fog #life #nabakov #perfect #real-things