Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Rincewind. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Rincewind Quotes And Sayings by 93 Authors including Alistair Milne,Dinah Maria Murlock Craik,John Milton,Cat Stevens,Terry Brooks for you to enjoy and share.
The boy who harnessed the wind
Loud wind, strong wind, sweeping o'er the mountains,
Fresh wind, free wind, blowing from the sea,
Pour forth thy vials like streams from airy mountains,
Draughts of life to me.
Ride the air In whirlwind.
I listen to the wind, the wind of my soul.
THE NAME OF THE WIND marks the debut of a writer we would all do well to watch. Patrick Rothfuss has real talent, and his tale of Kvothe is deep and intricate and wondrous.
Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.
No delicate breeze brings comfort with icy breath of wind
to the hearts which pant on the flames.
Winds with little fishhooks at the end of every gust.
What is more gentle than a wind is summer?
The Autumn Wind...
Idiot wind, blowing every time you open your mouth.
The wind is blowing. Adore the wind.
XIII
Lightly, lightly, very lightly
A very light wind passes,
And it goes away just as lightly,
And I don't know what I'm thinking,
Nor do I wish to know.
Wind ought to be a verb or an adverb. It isn't really anything. It's a manner of movement of warmth and cold: a kind of information system of the air.
Winds sweep the passages of time
Forever more
Taking, leaving
Memories.
Something Fane fully
Sidewinder. I didn't even bother pretending
The life of this world is wind
Windblown we come, and windblown we go away.
All that we look on is windfall.
All we remember is wind.
Narrow lanes climb both slopes and come together in a great ring of elm trees which encircles the flat summit. Any wind
even the slightest
draws from the height of the elms a rushing sound, multifoliate and powerful.
The meanest flowret of the vale, / The simplest note that swells the gale, / The common sun, the air, and skies, / To him are opening paradise.
The windows of the
The hot west wind that blew like sand whispering across stone.
Wind is the loving Wooer of waters; Wind blends together Billows all-foaming. Spirit of man, Thou art like unto water! Fortune of man, Thou art like unto wind!
Who am I? I'm the Breeze, bitch!
Reverie is the groundwork of creative imagination; it is the privilege of the artist that with him it is not as with other men an escape from reality, but the means by which he accedes to it.
The flies of some other summer darkening its windowsills.
Black Wind was Asha's longship. He had not seen his sister in ten years, but that much he knew of her. Odd that she would call it that, when Robb Stark had a wolf named Grey Wind. "Stark is grey and Greyjoy's black," he murmured, smiling, "but it seems we're both windy.
Who am I to blow against the wind?
A rustle in the wind reminds us a fairy is near.
Pulque - lightning nectar for the Gods.
[The] whirlwind fife-and-drum of the storm bends the salt marsh grass, disturbs stars in the sky and the star on the steeple; it is a privilege to see so much confusion.
I hear the howl of the wind that brings
The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
She looked to the open window, to the world beyond. For the first time in a long while, she heard the song of a northern wind, calling he rhome, And she was not afraid.
O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
Kiril. His name was but a whisper upon the wind, a sigh upon her lips.
Her gaze silently begged him while her hands continued their magic upon his aching cock. As if he could deny her
or himself
the pleasure that awaited.
O I will accompany the wind
Until the chain
Of my white bones
Drifts like fine sand
And I become compassing.
I become the wind.
- Song of the Wind
Winds are advertisements of all they touch, however much or little we may be able to read them; telling their wanderings even by their scents alone.
Words are wind - Tyrion Lannister.
i am the wind. one day, i will fly free
The wind is old, but it keeps blowing.
Ripper was my rainstorm, my skin-drenching frenzy, where you couldn't tell right from left, where all you could feel was the phenomenon exploding throughout your body, feverishly burning through you even as it pleasurably cooled.
The wind is made of haunting souls
that moan and groan
in whistles and whispers.
This ghostly choir chills the breeze
and orchestrates a rise of goose bumps
on my skin.
I was in love with a whirlwind and I must spin a net big enough to catch it,
Your storm, Thlayli-rah. Use it.
When the wind came it split the sky and shouldered the cloud-band left and right; unbarring great clear furnaces of rolling gold.
The reeds give
way to the
wind and give
the wind away
Come, ye cold winds, at January's call, On whistling wings, and with white flakes bestrew The earth.
If the wind no longer calls to you, it is time to see if you have forgotten your name.
A headland, a ship, a sail upon the billows. Farewell. A lovely girl, her veil awave upon the wind upon the headland, wind around her.
Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past? And with its crutch, its old age, and its wisdom, it whispers no this will be the last.
What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart
It's an ill wind that blows no good.
The sky's gray and there's mizzle. It's so soft on my skin
it's nothing like rain. It's even softer than the lightest drizzle! Lift my face up, so it can kiss my skin. The Panopticon
sunset, a red glow westering across the leaden sky.
You are my winter suddenness - a glass of red wine spilt across a white tablecloth
Windsurfing, the sound of the word contains all the mystery of a solitary buoy in the fog, echoing across the water at the end of the day.
Wind-voice looked in amazement at the sword in his claws. "I - I'll keep it safe," he muttered to Winger. "For the hero, when he comes ... "
Winger was smiling a light, dreamy smile that radiated all over his thin face. "The hero is here, Wind-voice," he said, awed. "You're the hero.
How silent are the winds!
It was the way the autumn day looked into the high windows as it waned; the way the red light, breaking at the close from under a low sombre sky, reached out in a long shaft and played over old wainscots, old tapestry, old gold, old colour.
REVEILLE, n. A signal to sleeping soldiers to dream of battlefields no more, but get up and have their blue noses counted.
The sweet air coming into your house on a fine day, from water etched with waves as formal as the scales on a fish.
red-hot fireflies
You & I are here but the wind is everywhere. Cast no words upon it you don't wish followed back to you.
The rustle of the leaves in summer's hush When wandering breezes touch them, and the sigh That filters through the forest, or the gush That swells and sinks amid the branches high,
'Tis all the music of the wind, and we Let fancy float on the aeolian breath.
The outside world might have finally turned into autumn, but inside the Waverley house it still smelled of summer. It was lemon verbena day, so the house was filled with a sweet-tart that conjured images of picnic blankets and white clouds like true-love hearts.
Raw, gentle, and easy, it mizzled out of the high air, a special elixir, tasting of spells and stars and air, carrying a peppery dust in it, and moving like a rare light sherry on his tongue. Rain.
I buttoned my sweater against the wind on my skin - winds of change.
A melancholy sound is in the air,
A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail
Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night.
How I want to see the mountains, rivers, sunshine, and ruined fortresses! Let the wind course over us until we become beautiful
Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls.
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 ...
A name that brings a taste of sunshine, and of sunshine raising mist from the trees, and of mist reaching toward the sky.
Sunlight sO Right, tRue, strOng, and White
Twilight whippoorwill ... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
The autumn wind is a pirate. Blustering in from sea with a rollicking song he sweeps along swaggering boisterously. His face is weather beaten, he wears a hooded sash with a silver hat about his head ... The autumn wind is a Raider, pillaging just for fun.
Iridescent with fancy and winged it with paradox.
Ropes of silver gliding from sunny thunder into freshness.
You'll have to outfly the west wind to catch me.
Something was moving; there was a kind of breathing brightness in the air, the wind of God brushing by, invisible in sunlight.
Wind as old as Rome outside my window, inky fleece clouds against charcoal crushed velvet skies, fall feels soulful, like a LaBelle octave.
Why do you chase the wind?
Wind is the sacred music of the leaves; wherever and whenever the wind blows, over there leaves start their holy dancing frantically!
Rachmaninoff. The 18th Variation of a Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.
My beautiful, my own
My only Venice-this is breath! Thy breeze
Thine Adrian sea-breeze, how it fans my face!
Thy very winds feel native to my veins,
And cool them into calmness!
Wind howled throught the night, carrying the scent that would change the world.
The windy satisfaction of the tongue.
At dusk they pour from the sky. They blow across the ramparts, turn cartwheels over rooftops, flutter into the ravines between houses. Entire streets swirl with them, flashing white against the cobbles. Urgent message to the inhabitants of this town, they say. Depart immediately to open country.
I have been Merlin wandering in the woods Of a far country, where the winds waken Unnatural voices , my mind broken By a sudden acquaintance with man's rage.
We came in the wind of the carnival. A wind of change, or promises. The merry wind, the magical wind, making March hares of everyone, tumbling blossoms and coat-tails and hats; rushing towards summer in a frenzy of exuberance.
Every wind is fare when we are flying from misfortune.
A breeze passes in the night. When did it spring up? Whence does it come? Whither is it going? No man knows.
Ricewind had always relied on running away. But somerimes, perhaps, you had to stand and fight, if only because there was nowhere left to run.
I am the breeze. I drift and I wander. I meet people and i touch their hearts. but people don't stay with me. They leave me. And I keep on drifting and keep on wandering. That's my life.
Up in the distance the whistle of the wind sang to her from the mountain. From Lucian's mountain. It beckoned and taunted and she wanted to run towards it. To be enveloped in its coat of fleece and to hear its safe sounds.
Words are winds.
But the wind playing in the reeds and rushes and osiers.
The wind whispered secrets in its own incomprehensible language.
what wind blows you here? nit an ill wind, I hope
The wind,
Tempestuous clarion, with heavy cry,
Came bluntly thundering, more terrible
Than the revenge of music on bassoons.
The sunset like a blacksmith, was beating the sky into glowing red blades.