A Quote by Edwidge Danticat

Love is like the rain. It comes in a drizzle sometimes. Then it starts pouring and if you're not careful it will drown you. — © Edwidge Danticat
Love is like the rain. It comes in a drizzle sometimes. Then it starts pouring and if you're not careful it will drown you.
I like that kind of weather. Constant drizzle. At the Olympic trials in 2012, my mom was, like, 'It's pouring rain out there, Mary. You shouldn't even notice it. You're Irish.'
If people were like rain, I was like drizzle and she was a hurricane.
I also love fall, when it starts to rain, or even just before the rain - that is the most inspiring thing.
The rain fluctuates between drizzle and torrential. It messes with your mind. It makes you think things will always be like this, never getting better, always letting you down right when you though the worst was over.
It began to drizzle rain and he turned on the windshield wipers; they made a great clatter like two idiots clapping in church.
I don't know how you get dressed if you live in Wales, because it's pouring rain and then it's hot sunshine, and then it might hail. It's just so confusing.
A cantor, when he starts singing, it's like rain - once it starts, it's hard to stop.
If you are not careful, you will drown in your expectations.
I love massive books: books so big, like bricks, you could drown yourself in a pool with them if you're not careful.
Be open, and God starts pouring into you like wine from every nook and corner of existence. Then wherever you look, you find God. Then whatsoever you touch, you find God. Then whatsoever you drink and eat, you find God. And when God pours from everywhere, then life is a celebration.
On the mainland, a rain was falling. The famous Seattle rain. The thin, gray rain that toadstools love. The persistent rain that knows every hidden entrance into collar and shopping bag. The quiet rain that can rust a tin roof without the tin roof making a sound in protest. The shamanic rain that feeds the imagination. The rain that seems actually a secret language, whispering, like the ecstasy of primitives, of the essence of things.
Maybe love is like rain. Sometimes gentle, sometimes torrential, flooding, eroding, joyful, steady, filling the earth, collecting in underground springs. When it rains, when we love, life grows.
Hello!" He said hello and then said, "What are you up to now?" "I'm still crazy. The rain feels good. I love to walk in it. "I don't think I'd like that," he said. "You might if you tried." "I never have." She licked her lips. "Rain even tastes good." "What do you do, go around trying everything once?" he asked. "Sometimes twice.
You do your job, you come home, and then like try and drown out the rest. I think it's a really important mindset to have, especially if stuff starts quickly and you're young. Because the rest of it is scary.
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk. The rain makes running pools in the gutter. The rain plays a little sellp-song on our roof at night- And I love the rain.
The rain ...falls upon the just and the unjust alike; a thing which would not happen if I were superintending the rain's affairs. No, I would rain softly and sweetly on the just, but if I caught a sample of the unjust outdoors, I would drown him.
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