Explore Quotes on Clouds

Why are there no clouds in the sky? ... 'Cause God wants to watch his favorite band again!

At the center, where a cuckoo bird would live in a more traditional timepiece, is the juggler. Dressed in harlequin style with a grey mask, he juggles shiny silver balls that correspond to each hour. As the clock chimes, another ball joins the rest until at midnight he juggles twelve balls in a complex pattern._x000D_ After midnight the clock begins once more to fold in upon itself. The face lightens and the clouds return. The number of juggled balls decreases until the juggler himself vanishes._x000D_ By noon it is a clock again, and no longer a dream.

Each thing organizes the space around it, rebuffing or sidling up against other things; each thing calls, gestures, beckons to other beings or battles them for our attention; things expose themselves to the sun or retreat among the shadows, shouting with their loud colors or whispering with their seeds; rocks snag lichen spores from the air and shelter spiders under their flanks; clouds converse with the fathomless blue and metamorphose into one another; they spill rain upon the land, which gathers in rivulets and carves out canyons.

The idea of immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and flowed in the human heart, with its countless waves of hope and fear, beating against the shores and rocks of time and fate, was not born of any book, nor of any creed, nor of any religion. It was born of human affection, and it will continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and clouds of doubt and darkness as long as love kisses the lips of death. It is the rainbow -- Hope shining upon the tears of grief.

Moon is like Soul. Clouds are like all the situations in our life, relationships, youth, etc. Wind is like the Time. Just like the wind moves the clouds, Time moves all the situations in our life. But the soul is always the same and not on the temporary situations. One who focuses on soul is a moon-like person.

Behind every dark cloud there's usually rain

An evening up on the Empire State roof-the strangest experience. The huge tomb in steel and glass, the ride to the 84th floor and there, under the clouds, a Hawaiian string quartet, lounge, concessions and, a thousand feet below, New York-a garden of golden lights winking on and off, automobiles, trucks winding in and out, and not a sound. All as silent as a dead city-and it looks adagio down there.

Raindrops are my only reminder that clouds have a heartbeat. That I have one, too.

The fact that a cloud from a minor volcanic eruption in Iceland—a small disturbance in the complex mechanism of life on the Earth—can bring to a standstill the aerial traffic over an entire continent is a reminder of how, with all its power to transform nature, humankind remains just another species on the planet Earth.

Whenever the cloud of ego threatens to engulf me, I remind myself of my roots. It helps keeping my feet on the ground.

My spiritual high naturally dissipated. At some point you've got to come out of the clouds and live real life. Again, it's just like falling in love. The feeling of euphoria is only temporary.

There are poems_x000D_ that are never written,_x000D_ that simply move across_x000D_ the mind_x000D_ like skywriting_x000D_ on a still day:_x000D_ slowly the first word_x000D_ drifts west,_x000D_ the last letters dissolve_x000D_ on the tongue,_x000D_ and what is left _x000D_ is the pure blue_x000D_ of insight, without cloud_x000D_ or comfort.

When you stand at the bottom of the mountain and look up at the mountaintop, the path looks hard and stony, and the top is obscured by clouds. But when you reach the top and you look down, you realize that there are a thousand paths that could have brought you to that place.

You must rise above _x000D_ The gloomy clouds _x000D_ Covering the mountaintop _x000D_ Otherwise, how will you _x000D_ Ever see the brightness?

I have seen the face of Jesus, Tell me not of aught beside, I have heard the voice of Jesus, All my soul is satisfied. All around is earthly splendour Earthly scenes lie fair and bright. But mine eyes no longer see them, For the glory of that light. Light that knows no cloud, no waning, Light wherein I see His face, All His love’s uncounted treasures, All the riches of His grace.

Have Hope. Though clouds environs now, And gladness hides her face in scorn, Put thou the shadow from thy brow, - No night but hath its morn.

Smile O voluptuous coolbreathed earth!_x000D__x000D_Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!_x000D__x000D_Earth of departed sunset! Earth of the mountains misty-topt!_x000D__x000D_Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!_x000D__x000D_Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!_x000D__x000D_Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!_x000D__x000D_Far-swooping elbowed earth! Rich apple-blossomed earth!_x000D__x000D_Smile, for your lover comes!

The mountain remains unmoved at its seeming defeat by the mist.

Clouds float in the same pattern only once.

Guitar playing, as currently understood, has more to do with sports than it does to do with music. It's an Olympic challenge type of situation. The challenges are in the realm of speed, redundancy, choreography, and grooming... ...clouds of educated gnat-notes.

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