A Quote by Markus Zusak

Amplified by the still of night, the book opened -- a gust of wind. — © Markus Zusak
Amplified by the still of night, the book opened -- a gust of wind.
It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents - except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.
In the course of that night I suddenly realized that there are many tiny windows between the body and the spirit. If they're open, emotions flow freely back and forth, but if they're partially closed, not much can filter through. Only love can fling them open all together, all at once, like a gust of wind.
When a gust of wind hits a broken bone, you feel it.
A sudden gust: How big the world seems in a wind.
With every gust of wind, the butterfly changes its place on the willow.
You can get a big gust of wind, and your Olympics are over.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind in never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
A man of feeble character resembles a reed that bends with every gust of wind.
I've had sideburns since I was 16, but back then, a gust of wind would have blown them off.
In all their jollity in this world, the wicked are but as a book fairly bound, which when it is opened is full of nothing but tragedies. So when the book of their consciences shall be once opened, there is nothing to be read but lamentations and woes.
... life is a flickering candle we all carry around. A gust of wind, a meaningless accident, a microsecond of carelessness, and it's out. Forever.
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.
The large white owl that with eye is blind, That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow, Is carried away in a gust of wind.
At the 2018 Hero World Challenge, I felt brittle. I felt like a gust of wind could push me over if I wasn't careful.
Give me a few bits of wool to stick on the car, a good gust of mistral wind, and I could come up with a better aerodynamic package on the bridge at Avigon
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