Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Unclouded. 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 Unclouded Quotes And Sayings by 99 Authors including Van Morrison,Helen Adam,Bassey Eyo,Yves Bonnefoy,Haruki Murakami for you to enjoy and share.
Well I've got to get out of the rat-race now I'm tired of the ways of mice and men And the empires all turning into rust again. Out of everything nothing remains the same That's why I'm cloud hidden Cloud hidden Whereabouts unknown.
to be old...anonymous as the clouds
When your vision clouds your vision, you see nothing but your vision
Clouds, this evening
The same as always, like thirst,
The same red dress, unfastened.
Imagine, passerby,
Our new beginnings, our eagerness, our trust.
There was an inexhaustible source of clouds in some land far to the north. Decisive people, minds fixed on the task, clothed in thick, gray uniforms, working silently from morning to night to make clouds, like bees make honey, spiders make webs, and war makes widows.
this heart yearns...
for the salt of unsmelt air
unswept thunderstorms...
unknown adventures.
We have chased away the clouds, the sky is all 'rose.'
The rain came down upon my head - Unshelter'd. And the wind rendered me mad and deaf and blind.
The sky was white but deteriorating fast. As always, it was becoming an enormous drop sheet. Blood was bleeding through, and in patches, the clouds were dirty, like footprints in melting snow.
Footprints? you ask.
Well, I wonder whose those could be.
What starts in clouded minds finishes in the rain
Wild steep mountains floating in a haze of cloud...a sea of green trees swallowing the hills and valleys, and curling around the trails and rivers, with the wind in the leaves as its tide.
Hope clouds observation.
The forecast was cloudy with extended periods of consciousness, followed by a stitch in my side and a sense of impending doom swelling to a symphony of demolition
My life felt so cluttered and obstructed that I could hardly breathe. I inhabited a closed, concentrated world, airless and without exits.
clouds may fill the sky but they are not the sky....
You travel here and you travel there, trying to get out from under the cloud, and nothing works, and then one day you realize you've been carrying the weather around with you.
The sky, drunk with spring and giddy with its fumes, thickened with clouds. Low clouds, drooping at the edges like felt sailed over the woods and rain leapt from them, warm, smelling of soil and sweat, and washing the last of the black armor-plating of ice from the earth.
A lean cheek, - a blue eye, and sunken, - an unquestionable spirit, - a beard neglected:- Then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation.
There must be a cloud in my head, rain keeps falling from my eyes
After the rains departed the skies and settled on earth - clear skies; moist brilliant earth - greater clarity returned to life alone with the blue above and made the world below rejoice with the freshness of the recent rain. It left heaven in our souls and a freshness in our hearts.
Humid the air! Leafless, yet soft as spring. The tender purple spray on copse and briers! And that sweet city with her dreaming spires, she needs not June for beauty's heightening. Lovely all the time she lies ...
Cloudiness what is cloudiness, is it a lining, is it a roll, is it melting.
How strange and abandoned and unsettled I am. Like a snowdome paper weight that's been shaken. There's a blizzard in my bubble. Everything in my world that was steady and sure and sturdy has been shaken out of place, and it's now drifting and swirling back down in a confetti of debris. (p30)
Jaded. I never understood the term. Jade is pretty and worth something, yes? I was rusted if I was anything. Too long in the rain. Going out in an orange blaze of muted, anonymous, common-as-dirt oxidation.
It wasn't the fog I minded, Cathleen. I really love fog. [ ... ] It hides you from the world and the world from you. You feel that everything has changed, and nothing is what it seemed to be. No one can find or touch you any more.
The airy sky has taken its place leaning against the wall. It is like a prayer to what is empty And what is empty turns its face to us and whispers: 'I am not empty, I am open'.
There were angry clouds building up behind the moutains, black-gray clouds, great clumps of them colored just like cotton balls after Aunt Ruth cleaned off her eye makeup from a big night out, all gunky with mascara and eye shadow. (p 378)
I am clouded and bruised with the print of minds and faces and things so subtle that they have smell, colour, texture, substance, but no name.
I'm somewhat in my own cloud.
The clouds roll on. Silent as sleepwalkers the clouds keep coming from infinity bank behind bank and line after line, and change colors on the earth.
Storms without rain. Winds without water. She woke, and when she sat up, the dust fountained off her and the voice that accompanied her once again stirred, once again whispered, "Get up. Keep walking. Don't stop.
Why is Cloud 9 so amazing? What is wrong with Cloud 8? That joke came off the top of my head, and the top of my head ain't funny!
I saw in a blue haze all the world poured flat and pale between the mountains
Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.
This mangled, smutted semi-world hacked out
Of dirt ... It is not possible for the moon
To blot this with its dove-winged blendings.
The rain had stopped and the sky was absurdly pretty, a single layer of floury cloudlets pinked and peached by the rising sun. Only the juvenile, the mad, and the newly in love noticed. The rest of the city got its head down and ploughed tearily into another day of neurosis.
Fogs are like dreams that feed the soul, and without their mysterious embrace, childhood, courtship, poetry and the composition of music become all the more difficult.
There is divinity in the clouds.
On the morrow the horizon was covered with clouds- a thick and impenetrable curtain between earth and sky, which unhappily extended as far as the Rocky Mountains. It was a fatality!
The weather is nice outside, but it's cloudy in my heart.
Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po.
haze-brained nitwit
pickle-head froggy leg soup
murky
daunting
gone
From sunny woof and cloudy weft Fell rain in sheets; so, to myself I hummed these hazard rhymes, and left The learned volume on the shelf.
But these clouds won't leave
Walk away
Barely breathing
As I'm lying on the floor
Take my heart
As you're leaving
I don't need it anymore
That cloud, however, blossomed just for minutes
And when I gazed up, faded in the wind.
Sometimes a high moon, liquid-brilliant, scudded across a hollow space and took cover under electric, brown-iridescent cloud-edges.
Today words curve around my vision,
Stumbling from my parched core
To soak again those strands of silence.
Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me.
Darkening sea full of stirred silt and clouds of minute
There was neither horizon, cloud, nor sound; of that pink, spread silence even I had become part, belonging as much to sky as to earth.
dazed mind. Early morning rays highlighted the water stains shining through the slap-dash
If you could do with being in the clouds, be up in the clouds.
You never realized how thick your fog was until it lifted.
I am unattached; My heart is very quiet.
It almost rained Saturday.The clouds hung low over the farm.The air felt thick.It smelled like rain.
In town,the sidewalks got damp, that was all.
Clouds buzz by, unaware of the scary world below them. I envy them. I envy the easy way that they live and die. They never have to worry about tomorrow and what horrors or death it might bring.
There is a loneliness that fills the plain.
Total.
Lunar.
I feel as exposed as a sweatshirt worn wrong-side-out, or like pocket linings dangling outside of a pair of jeans. My heart, my hope, hang in the afternoon sun.
I feel like the earth, astonished at fragrance borne in the air, made pregnant with mystery from a drop of rain.
Haze all clouding up in my mind in the daze of the why it could've never been.
The landscape which, a few weeks earlier, had been blotted out by dust was now hazy with moisture.
I am watching parts of me evaporate like sidewalk water. This wet grey, this nighttime dew, gone before morning.
When the wind came it split the sky and shouldered the cloud-band left and right; unbarring great clear furnaces of rolling gold.
Incontinent the void. The zenith. Evening again. When not night it will be evening. Death again of deathless day. On one hand embers. On the other ashes. Day without end won and lost. Unseen.
My freshness is spending its wavering shower in the dust.
Under the thinning fog the surf curled and creamed, almost without sound, like a thought trying to form inself on the edge of consciousness.
dazzled by the sheer essence of the whole,
Revelations are found in clouds.
Clouds suit my mood just fine.
I don't believe there's any cloud that hangs over me. I think there's nothing but sunshine hanging over me.
The untouched created the unbroken.
You must stand unshaken amidst the crash of breaking worlds
But the huge bowl of the sky remains untracked: no zeppelins, no bombers, no superhuman paratroopers, just the last songbirds returning from their winter homes, and the quicksilver winds of spring transmuting into the heavier, greener breezes of summer.
Alone, adj. In bad company.
He was troubled; this brain, so limpid in its blindness, had lost its transparency; there was a cloud in this crystal.
What see you in the horizon's bruised smear
That cannot be blotted out
By your raised hand?
I had kept opaque
Down deeper than the canyons undersea
The sullen spectrum of a buried lake
Nobody saw; not seen even by me ...
In the stillness of the mind I saw myself as I am - unbound.
Thoughts shut up want air, And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.
Rain woke him, a slow drizzle, his feet tangled in coils of discarded fiberoptics. The arcade's sea of sound washed over him, receded, returned. Rolling over, he sat up and held his head.
I embraced a cloud,
but when I soared
it rained.
It was the day without a yesterday, and the world was so new the paint was still wet on the flowers, the meadows were wrapped up in a glossy cellophane of dew, and freshly budded leaves dangled like shiny price-tags from the trees.
Floating to shore ... riding a low moon ... on a slow cloud.
By unseen hands uplifted in the light Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad, And wafted up to heaven.
Nothing else can take a cloud's place but the sun.
Wafted up, The stealing cloud with soft grey blinds the sky And in its vapory mantle onward steps The summer shower.
Drifting across the vast space, silent except for wind and footsteps, I felt uncluttered and unhurried for the first time in a while, already on desert time.
The sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops as if it lacked the courage to rise, and the rain came slowly and doggedly down, as if it had not even the spirit to pour.
An infinite
Resignedness
Rains where the white
Mists opalesce
In the moon-shower ...
Smooth and ordered on the outside; roiling and chaotic and desperately secretive underneath, but not noticeably so, never noticeably so.
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
The mist after rain, uninterrupted rainfall on rooftops, pitter-patter intellect. The thoughts I leave behind like footsteps.
In the land of wisdom, there is no fog in the air, no haze, no blur, no mirage, no smoke; all is seen plainly; the vision is very clean!
He was in an eddy again, a deep, lethargic gulf, without desire to work or write, love or dissipate.
The earth is heavy and opaque without dreams.
White and distant, absorbed in itself, endlessly the sky covers and uncovers, moves and remains.
The evening lay out against the sky
Like a patient, etherised on a table
There was a dense fog in my brain,impenetrable to any coherent thought,except the dull obsession of counting the minutes - an aching state of semi concsiousness and numb idiocy.
Behjet eased the horse forward again. "The harvest is failing. There will be no crop at all if this rain doesn't stop - not even hay."
The rain. The rain she'd been so grateful for, the rain that concealed the warping of her shadow. It was going to kill people.
Brushing the clouds away from my eyes, I see clarity in the raindrop and beauty in the first ray of morning sun...
Life is strange and wondrous...