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Storm Quotes

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Storm Quotes

“We can either fear the storm because we’re attempting to HOLD ON to the things that it’s blowing away or we can trust the storm because it’s showing us how to LET GO of the things that don’t serve us. Nothing REAL can be lost.”

“I’ll be honest, Etta. The last few days have been hard for me. I think I’m just sick of all this rain. Sometimes storms… they get inside. We all need the sun.” My heart aches. I would do anything I could to keep the storms away from Mom. I would learn to fly with no superpowers. I would stop the train from making fireworks. I will do everything I can. Tomorrow. I put my hand on hers. “Don’t be afraid. Everything will be okay.” Mom squeezes my hand. “I don’t want any choice you ever make to be governed by fear either. But I’ll admit, I’m pretty nervous.” “We both are,” says Dad. I want to say, Me too, but I stay quiet. “But you deserve more than that,” Mom says. “You deserve more than fear.”

“It is in the long hours of silence, pain and agony that wonders are born. A mother in the labor room doesn't think about the pain. Her strength to push is inspired by the beauty of the miracle that is to come! It's after the darkest of night, on the backs of the moments that bring us to our knees, that the strength of our souls is born and our hopes renewed! Don't give up, PUSH!”

“There was a sudden flash of lightning which brightly illuminated our faces. I squinted against the harsh light. It was soon followed by the crack of thunder. The strong wind whipped our hair around our faces, and the younger girls squealed as they quickly ran across the grass to get inside the school. Rose and I sat up, smiles on our faces as we listened to the weather’s dangerous melody. The third flash of lightning finally ripped open the sky’s belly. Freezing rain cascaded out, drenching us in a matter of seconds, the flower garlands drooping and lying limp on our matted hair.”

“At present, the successful office-seeker is a good deal like the center of the earth; he weighs nothing himself, but draws everything else to him. There are so many societies, so many churches, so many isms, that it is almost impossible for an independent man to succeed in a political career. Candidates are forced to pretend that they are catholics with protestant proclivities, or christians with liberal tendencies, or temperance men who now and then take a glass of wine, or, that although not members of any church their wives are, and that they subscribe liberally to all. The result of all this is that we reward hypocrisy and elect men entirely destitute of real principle; and this will never change until the people become grand enough to allow each other to do their own thinking. Our government should be entirely and purely secular. The religious views of a candidate should be kept entirely out of sight. He should not be compelled to give his opinion as to the inspiration of the bible, the propriety of infant baptism, or the immaculate conception. All these things are private and personal. The people ought to be wise enough to select as their officers men who know something of political affairs, who comprehend the present greatness, and clearly perceive the future grandeur of our country. If we were in a storm at sea, with deck wave-washed and masts strained and bent with storm, and it was necessary to reef the top sail, we certainly would not ask the brave sailor who volunteered to go aloft, what his opinion was on the five points of Calvinism. Our government has nothing to do with religion. It is neither christian nor pagan; it is secular. But as long as the people persist in voting for or against men on account of their religious views, just so long will hypocrisy hold place and power. Just so long will the candidates crawl in the dust—hide their opinions, flatter those with whom they differ, pretend to agree with those whom they despise; and just so long will honest men be trampled under foot.”

“She was an ocean full of storms and sailing in her would have made him lose his path forever. But he was not ready to give up without taking that risk. He set his sail and kept moving into the heart of the ocean until she calmed down. And once the storm was over all he saw was a place that no one could imagine and nobody had ever reached. And in the end the journey was worth it.”

“I, for one. You’re welcome to your Sturm und Drang, darling—I’ll take someone who’s a bit easier to manage.” “What is Sturm und Drang?” “Ah…I see that I’ll have to introduce you to the finer points of German literature. It means passionate turmoil—literally translated, ‘storm and stress.’ ” “Yes, well, there is nothing quite as exciting as a storm, is there?” Aline asked ruefully. Adam grinned as he drew her to a nearby bench. “Only when one is viewing it from inside a nice, cozy house.”

“Don't only learn from the rich and successful men, also learn from the poor and those that failed woefully, for in their failures lies the secret of success as well.”

“Never forget a man who weathered and rescued you from the storm just because you can see the shores.”

“Don't cheat the foundation of a house because you want to save for the roofing for at the end, you will have only roofed rubbles.”

“Don't sell the warmer for an air conditioner just because its summer, for in winter, you will have to do the reverse.”

“It was as if the rain clouds had reached as far as they could. The gray darkness gave way to a bright and wonderful blue like Linus had never seen before. The rain stopped as they passed out of the storm and into the sun. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the warmth through the glass against his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt sunlight.”

“At that time, I well remember whatever could excite - certain accidents of the weather, for instance, were almost dreaded by me, because they woke the being I was always lulling, and stirred up a craving cry I could not satisfy. One night a thunder-storm broke; a sort of hurricane shook us in our beds: the Catholics rose in panic and prayed to their saints. As for me, the tempest took hold of me with tyranny: I was roughly roused and obliged to live. I got up and dressed myself, and creeping outside the basement close by my bed, sat on its ledge, with my feet on the roof of a lower adjoining building. It was wet, it was wild, it was pitch dark. Within the dormitory they gathered round the night-lamp in consternation, praying loud. I could not go in: too resistless was the delight of staying with the wild hour, black and full of thunder, pealing out such an ode as language never delivered to man - too terribly glorious, the spectacle of clouds, split and pierced by white and blinding bolts.”

“My pain builds like storm clouds―massive, dark, and heavy with teardrops. Moisture falls torrential as if my world is a violent, eternal downpour; however, at long last the source runs dry and the bitter storm does cease. Blue skies dare to glow where the gloom has dissipated. I breathe it in, hoping to cleanse my inner soul. A laden heart tells me the truth: the clear sky is an illusion. Old pain rushes back like a flood, providing means for clouds to form and expand once again until it is too much to bear and the heaviness turns to rain. I cannot find refuge from this woe. It is my never-ending heartache.”

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that has nothing to do with you, This storm is you. Something inside you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up the sky like pulverized bones.”

“Joining her at the table, Liz said, “They’re ever-changing. Swirling, dilating, expanding. To look at, you’d think they hardly move at all, but they actually travel at around a hundred miles an hour.” She took Naomi’s hands in hers again. “We are never stuck, my love. We’re always moving towards something, whether we see it or not. And yes, sometimes we’re forced to bear the greyness of life, but eventually the sun shines through us again.” She smiled, her pink papery cheeks resembling the inside of a rose. “As Maya Angelou once said, ‘Every storm runs out of rain’.”