#wind

They've never known a time when people drank rain water because it was pure, or could eat snow, or swim in any river or brook. The last time I drove to Washington the traffic was so bad that I could have made better time with a horse. ↗

— Madeleine L'Engle

#brook #change #earth #environment #history

Writers often have the cleanest windows, floors, fridges and toilets, the most up-to-date filing system or the best record for returning calls or e-mails because, in the moment, just about any task seems more palatable than sitting down to write.” (p.136) ↗

— Mark David Gerson

#filing #floors #fridges #returning-calls #toilets

Her eyes were of different colors, the left as brown as autumn, the right as gray as Atlantic wind. Both seemed alive with questions that would never be voiced, as if no words yet existed with which to frame them. She was nineteen years old, or thereabouts; her exact age was unknown. Her face was as fresh as an apple and as delicate as blossom, but a marked depression in the bones beneath her left eye gave her features a disturbing asymmetry. Her mouth never curved into a smile. God, it seemed, had withheld that possibility, as surely as from a blind man the power of sight. He had withheld much else. Amparo was touched—by genius, by madness, by the Devil, or by a conspiracy of all these and more. She took no sacraments and appeared incapable of prayer. She had a horror of clocks and mirrors. By her own account she spoke with Angels and could hear the thoughts of animals and trees. She was passionately kind to all living things. She was a beam of starlight trapped in flesh and awaiting only the moment when it would continue on its journey into forever.” (p.33) ↗

— Tim Willocks

#apple #asymmetry #atlantic #autumn #blind-man

All the windows of my heart I open to the day. ↗

— John Greenleaf Whittier

#heart #i #open #windows

I won't forget the hood. I won't forget the days of catching a bullet on the way to the mailbox or bricks with death threats that somehow made their way through the window. ↗

— Pau Gasol

#bullet #catching #days #death #forget

How old is the lad?' inquired Barceló, inspecting me out of the corner of his eye. 'Almost eleven,' I announced. Barceló flashed a sly smile. 'In other words, ten. Don't add on any years, you rascal. Life will see to that without your help. ↗

— Carlos Ruiz Zafón

#life

You tell Roarke you were tagging me for this? Or is he going to get riled up so I have to kick his ass again?" "Oh, is that what you were doing when you had to be carried out of the room unconscious?" "I like to remember it that I was just getting my second wind. ↗

— J.D. Robb

#roarke #second-wind #webster #death

Keep your vision all-inclusive, never allowing it to lock on any one thing...look everywhere at once, see nothing to the exclusion of all else---don't allow the enemy to direct your vision, or you will see what he wishes you to see. He will then come at you as you become bewildered, looking for his attack, and you will lose.
Instead, your vision must open to all there is, never settling, even when cutting. Know your enemy's moves by instinct, not waiting to see them. To dance with death meant to know the enemy's sword and its speed without waiting to see it. Dancing with death meant being one with the enemy, without looking fixedly, so that you could kill him. Dancing with death meant being committed to killing, committed with your heart and soul. ↗

— Terry Goodkind

#temple-of-the-winds #terry-goodkind #death

With riddles as black as coals, and answers as invisible as our past, I can only depend upon the crest of the rolling wave I now traversed; a romance worshiped only by the dreamer in us all, a psithurism of trust making its way through the years of our ascension to one day climb above the kaleidoscopic canopy of this mortal coil. ↗

— Dave Matthes

#fate #love #mortal-coil #mystery #rebirth

I listen to the sound of India's voices for the last time . Laughter ripples like water . A prayer is a single note held long . There is so much life here . And too much death.I feel a soft brezze caress my face and I look up. An orange ribbon is floating through the air . In India , it's easy to see the wind . ↗

— Cathy Ostlere

#india #spritual #wind #death