A Quote by Lauren Oliver
Through wind, and tempest, storm, and rain; The calm shall be buried inside of me; A warm stone, heavy and dry; The root, the source, a weapon against pain
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UNDER THE STORM AND THE CLOUD TODAY, AND TODAY THE HARD PERIL AND PAIN - TOMORROW
THE STONE WILL BE ROLLED AWAY, FOR THE SUNSHINE SHALL FOLLOW THE RAIN
The summer day was spoiled with fitful storm; At night the wind died and the soft rain dropped; With lulling murmur, and the air was warm, And all the tumult and the trouble stopped.
Tell me what do you do when you've done all you can and it seems like you can't make it through? Well you just stand, stand, stand, don't you dare give up. Through the storm, through the rain, through the hurt , stand through the pain, hold on, be strong, God will step in and it won't be long.
Give me the storm and tempest of thought and action, rather than the dead calm of ignorance and faith! Banish me from Eden when you will; but first let me eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge!
When you walk through the storm, hold your head high And don't be afraid of the dark! At the end of the storm is a golden sky And the sweet song of the lark. Walk on through the wind Walk on through the rain Though your dreams be tossed & blown Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart And you'll never walk alone!
The commercial storm leaves its path strewn with ruin. When it is over there is calm, but a dull, heavy calm.
If you see the fury and hear the howling of the tempest, or read of shipwrecks, think of the storm of human passions causing daily groans and disturbance in the hearts of men, wrecking the spiritual ship of the soul or the ship of human society; and pray fervently to the Lord that He may subdue the tempest of sins, as He once subdued the tempest at sea by His word, and that He may root our passions from our hearts, and re-establish in them unceasing tranquility.
The harvest of the Lord’s field is seldom ripened by sunshine only. It must go through its days of wind, rain and storm.
A blight had fallen on the trees and shrubs; and the wind, at length beginning to break the unnatural stillness that had prevailed all day, sighed heavily from time to time, as though foretelling in grief the ravages of the coming storm. The bat skimmed in fantastic flights through the heavy air, and the ground was alive with crawling things, whose instinct brought them forth to swell and fatten in the rain.
The first cup caresses my dry lips and throat, The second shatters the walls of my loneliness, The third explores the dry rivulets of my soul Searching for legends of five thousand scrolls. With the fourth the pain of past injustice vanishes through my pores. The fifth purifies my flesh and bone. With the sixth I commune with the immortals. The seventh conveys such pleasure I am overcome. The fresh wind blows through my wings As I make my way to Penglai.
No matter how strong the storm, how hard the rain and how vicious the wind there is always a gap in the clouds for the light to shine through
When it is peace, then we may view again With new-won eyes each other's truer form And wonder. Grown more loving-kind and warm We'll grasp firm hands and laugh at the old pain When it is peace. But until peace, the storm The darkness and the thunder and the rain.
The profound calm which only apparently precedes and prophesies of the storm, is perhaps more awful than the storm itself; for indeed, the calm is but the wrapper and envelop of the storm, and contains it in itself, as the seemingly harmless rifle holds the fatal powder, and the ball, and the explosion.
The rain set early in tonight, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its best to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up and all the cottage warm.
This is what I have heard at last the wind in December lashing the old trees with rain unseen rain racing along the tiles under the moon wind rising and falling wind with many clouds trees in the night wind.
It was one of those somber evenings when the sighing of the wind resembles the moans of a dying man; a storm was brewing, and between the splashes of rain on the windows there was the silence of death. All nature suffers in such moments; the trees writhe in pain and twist their heads; the birds of the fields cower under the bushes; the streets of cities are deserted.
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