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Rain Quotes

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Rain Quotes

“Every day after lunch when I was writing my first book, I'd nibble a square of fine chocolate and meditate on all that had gone into its creation: the sun and rain that spilled on the cocoa plant, the soil that nourished it, the hands that picked the beans, and so on. My taste of chocolate became a lesson on the interconnectedness of things, and the infinite blessings for which I am grateful.”

Writing Firsts Book Hands Sun Gone Creation Fine Lessons Taste Blessing Rain Infinite Grateful Plant Soil Chocolate Lunch Squares Beans Interconnectedness I Am Grateful Cocoa Sun And Rain

Author:Laura Hillenbrand

“The storm lashes us, out of the confusion of grey and yellow the hail of splinters whips forth the childlike cries of the wounded, and in the night shattered life groans painfully into silence. Our hands are earth, our bodies clay and our eyes pools of rain. We do not know whether we are still alive.”

Source: All Quiet on the Western Front: A Novel

“The angels in heaven covered their eyes with their hands and sobbed loudly, because that is what they always do when a man hits his wife. A profound sadness settled over the earth...God was silent in every language. The angels tried to dry their tears, but their handkerchiefs were so soaked through that is started raining even in the deserts.”

Men Hands Eye Earth Language Heaven Wife Sadness Tears Angel Rain Silent Profound Desert Dry Covered Handkerchiefs Angel In Heaven Profound Sadness

Author:Guus Kuijer

“How many years have slipped through our hands? At least as many as the constellations we still can identify. The quarter moon, like a light skiff, floats out of the mist-remnants Of last night’s hard rain. It, too, will slip through our fingers with no ripple, without us in it.”

Years Stills Hard Hands Light Lasts Night Moon Rain Fingers Quarters Slips Floats Last Night Mist Constellations Ripple Remnants

Author:Charles Wright

“I got a smile that'll make the mirror crack, And I seem to stay under clouds that's pitch black. So when it rains, it pours, and when it pours, I'm soaked. I contracted lung cancer from third hand smoke, And I'm like the frog that's dying to be a prince, The boy who cried wolf and no one was convinced. The man who hit lotto and lost his ticket, In a rainstorm...and struck by lightning trying to get it.”

“The first music I bought when I was nine or 10 was pop music from the '50s and '60s, like The Everly Bros., Elvis, Del Shannon, The Flamingos, The Platters, whatever I could get my hands on. And then some musical things, like Camelot, Singing in the Rain and Hair.”

Firsts Hands Hair Singing Rain Musical Pops Nine Pop Music Bros Camelot Shannon Flamingos Singing In The Rain

Author:Will Oldham

“Our Lord Jesus is ever giving, and does not for a solitary instant withdraw his hand. As long as there is a vessel of grace not yet full to the brim, the oil shall not be stayed. He is a sun ever-shining; he is manna always falling round the camp; he is a rock in the desert, ever sending out streams of life from his smitten side; the rain of his grace is always dropping; the river of his bounty is ever-flowing, and the well-spring of his love is constantly overflowing.”

Source: Morning and Evening: Daily Readings

“If I were to speak of war, it would not be to show you the glories of conquering armies but the mischief and misery they strew in their tracks; and how, while they marched on with tread of iron and plumes proudly tossing in the breeze, some one must follow closely in their steps, crouching to the earth, toiling in the rain and darkness, shelterless themselves, with no thought of pride or glory, fame or praise, or reward; hearts breaking with pity, faces bathed in tears and hands in blood. This is the side which history never shows.”

“Let the young rain of tears come, let the calm hands of grief come. It's not all as evil as you think.”

Thinking Hands Young Evil Grief Tears Rain Calm

Book:The Roads Have Come to an End Now: Selected and Last Poems of Rolf Jacobsen

Source: The Roads Have Come to an End Now: Selected and Last Poems of Rolf Jacobsen