Wind Rose Quotes

#1. And so they stood on the walls of the City of Gondor, and a great wind rose and blew, and their hair, raven and golden, streamed out mingling in the air.

J.R.R. Tolkien

#2. There was silence. Then as if to refresh the power of destruction, the wind rose and the waves rose and through the house there lifted itself a sullen wave of doom which curled and crashed and the whole earth seemed ruining and washing away in water.

Virginia Woolf

#3. At Ghent the wind rose.
There was a smell of rain and a heavy drag
Of wind in the hedges but not as the wind blows
Over fresh water when the waves lag
Foaming and the willows huddle and it will rain ...

Archibald MacLeish

#4. In two weeks a man could completely refashion his history; he could walk all the way to Ohio or Iowa, change his name and his accent, disappear into another life. In the woods, footprints faded, the wind rose up to disperse of clothing, flesh became grass.

Alice Hoffman

#5. As he did so, a wind rose up around him, around the man who had been called lord, Dragon Reborn, king, killer, lover and friend.

Robert Jordan

#6. Her mighty eyebrow rose like a kite catching the wind, flock of geese fleeing a shotgun blast, excursion balloon departing carnival grounds.

Dennis Vickers

#7. Life is full of joy and beauty. Look around and notice it. Notice the little butterfly, a little baby with a smile, and the white rose in the garden. Notice a drop of dew on a green leaf in the morning sun. Touch the wind, smell the rain, and feel the joy. Live your life with beauty and joy.

Debasish Mridha

#8. As the waves of perfume, heliotrope, rose,
Float in the garden when no wind blows,
Come to us, go from us, whence no one knows;
So the old tunes float in my mind,
And go from me leaving no trace behind,
Like fragrance borne on the hush of the wind.

Sara Teasdale

#9. I do not know who lives here in my chest, or why the smile comes. I am not myself, more the bare green knob of a rose that lost every leaf and petal to the morning wind.

Rumi

#10. Water and stone
Flesh and bone
Night and morn
Rose and thorn
Tree and wind
Heart and mind

Juliet Marillier

#11. Lilith: Oh, but your heart grows cold. A north wind blows and carries down the distant ... Rose?
The Doctor: Oooh, big mistake! Because that name keeps me fighting!

Gareth Roberts

#12. Lirralei was a girl of storm
winds and thorns, the musk of the wild rose and the flight of the falcon.

Rosamund Hodge

#13. Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom, Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom, Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows, And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose!

Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

#14. A few wisps of smoke still rose from the blackened stones of Hazdar, twisted like ribbons by the wind.

George R R Martin

#15. Nana's French knickers were surely a symbol of liberty and abandonment, worn only by women who didn't care for conventional frills or superficial nametags. Those french knickers were flags blowing in the wind, like a statement of victory.

Diana Janney

#16. Northern San Diego. The white stucco walls rose, interrupted by huge windows. The whole structure nearly floated off the pavement, sleek, modern, and somehow light, almost delicate. The salt-spiced wind blowing from the coast less than a mile away only strengthened the illusion. He'd

Ilona Andrews

#17. WHEN he was half-way there, the keen dry wind that had been blowing early that morning rose again, and a fine dry snow began falling thickly. It did not lie on the ground, but was whirled about by the wind, and soon there was a regular snowstorm.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

#18. Who can undo
What time hath done? Who can win back the wind?
Reckon lost music from a broken lute?
Renew the redness of a last year's rose?
Or dig the sunken sunset from the deep?

Robert Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Earl Of Lytton

#19. I was a thorn rushing to be with a rose, vinegar blending with honey ... Then I found some dirt to make an ointment that would honor my soul ... Love says, You are right, but don't claim these changes. Remember, I am wind. You are an ember I ignite.

Rumi

#20. Desire's wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from a bramblebush to be a rose upon the rood of time.

James Joyce

#21. Yes, all Lannisters are lions, and when a Tyrell breaks wind it smells just like a rose.

George R R Martin

#22. A rose shook in her blood and shadowed her cheeks. Quick breath parted the petals of her lips. They trembled. Some southern wind of passion swept over her and stirred the dainty folds of her dress. "I love him", she said simply.

Oscar Wilde

#23. We may avoid shame if we choose, for shame seldom takes us unawares but has its warning cry, and we can hear that cry as clearly as we can hear the coming of the north wind ... The man lying in the mud hadn't heard the coming of the north wind.

Rose Tremain

#24. Don't spend more than 10% of your marketing/PR budget on a trailer. Trailers have to be marketed, too. So, far too many authors wind up marketing their trailers instead of their books.

M.J. Rose

#25. They looked for all the world like miniaturized rose petals drained of their color. These pale petals were gathering in the wind like flocking birds - thousands of them, like a spring snowstorm.

John Green

#26. There are no roses in my yard: what wind brought you?
But I suddenly come from far away. I was sick for a moment.
No wind whatsoever brought you now.
Now you're here.
What you were isn't you, or else the whole rose would be here.

Alberto Caeiro

#27. Mitchell rose to the task of playing the avenging angel for the Confederate States. There have been hundreds of novels about the Civil War, but Gone With the Wind stands like an obelisk in the

Margaret Mitchell

#28. I am a single note, a tone that peals in the wind. I am in the magic of the moment and then he returns, flowing toward me around the thick immense bark of the Sequoia.

Sophia Rose

#29. The hillside before them blurred, as if a curtain of wind-blown sand rose before it. A churning wind roiled through this strange mist.

Steven Erikson

#30. She felt vaguely upset and unsettled. She was suddenly tired of outworn dreams. And in the garden the petals of the last red rose were scattered by a sudden little wind. Summer was over
it was Autumn.

L.M. Montgomery

#31. One day it had rained before sunrise, and a soft spring wind had been blowing ever since, a soothing and persuading wind, that seemed to draw out the buds from the secret places of the dry twigs, and whisper to the roots of the rose-trees that their flowers would be wanted by and by.

George MacDonald

#32. s ships Phoenix and Rose, in the company of three tenders, cast off their moorings at Staten Island and started up the harbor under full sail, moving swiftly with the favorable wind and a perfect flood tide. Alarm guns sounded in New York. Soldiers

David McCullough

#33. For years and years I struggled
just to love my life. And then

the butterfly
rose, weightless, in the wind.
"Don't love you life
too much," it said,

and vanished
into the world.

Mary Oliver

#34. Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier's boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are
Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose.

Walter De La Mare

#35. Katsa watched the long grass moving around them. The wind pushed it, attacked it, struck it in one place and then another. It rose and fell and rose again. It flowed, like water.

Kristin Cashore

#36. That made me sad. Sure, sirens are a pain in the ass, but how could he not see all the beauty that was out there
the starlight leaving stains of brightness in the water, the salt-kissed wind? I wanted to find a way to share it with him, show him there was more in the world than blood and shadow.

Cassandra Rose Clarke

#37. They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,
Like petals from a rose,
When suddenly across the lune
A wind with fingers goes.
They perished in the seamless grass,
No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face

Emily Dickinson

#38. But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.

John Keats

#39. We may be touched by the most powerful of suppositions--even to a certainty--as we stand in the rose petals of the sun and hear a murmur from the wind no louder than the sound it makes as it dozes under the bee's wings. This, too, I suggest, is the weather, and worthy of report.

Mary Oliver