A Quote by Noah Wyle

'Falling Skies' was mostly night work in winter in Toronto. It was cold and wet, and we were filthy. — © Noah Wyle
'Falling Skies' was mostly night work in winter in Toronto. It was cold and wet, and we were filthy.
The leaves are falling, falling as from way off, as though far gardens withered in the skies; they are falling with denying gestures. And in the nights the heavy earth is falling from all the stars down into loneliness. We all are falling. This hand falls. And look at others: it is in them all. And yet there is one who holds this falling endlessly gently in his hands.
The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold, wet day.
Put someone on a horse looking cold and wet, and they don't have to act. They just are cold and wet.
I hate being cold and I hate being wet and around 80% percent of this film I was cold and another 60% I was cold and wet, so it wasn't the best shoot for me.
When death comes, it's just like winter. We don't say, "There ought not to be winter." That the winter season, when the leaves fall and the snow comes, is some kind of defeat, something which we should hold out against. No. Winter is part of the natural course of events. No winter, no summer. No cold, no heat.
This is about doing something difficult and not stopping when it becomes not just difficult, but cold and difficult...or cold and wet and difficult...or cold and wet and dark and difficult.
Your car breaks down in the middle of the night. It's raining. It's cold. And you have to change the tire of your car. You cannot really enjoy that it is cold and wet, but you can bring acceptance to it. Peace flows into it.
To feel safe and warm on a cold wet night, all you really need is soup.
A fan sent me a pair of fluffy winter socks, and I was like, 'Oh, that's cool. I'll wear them to bed. It's cold; it's winter.' But they were worn. They were black underneath, and they stunk, and I hate feet. She was like, 'I'm giving you my favorite pair.'
The approach of night The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.
After winter comes the summer. After night comes the dawn. And after every storm, there comes clear, open skies.
The air was cold to the lungs, the long grass dripping wet, and the herbs on it gave out their spiced astringent scent. In a little while on all sides the Cicada would begin to sing. The grass was me , and the air, the distant invisible mountains were me, the tired oxen were me. I breathed with the slight night-wind in the thorn trees.
The year's in wane; There is nothing adorning; The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning!
My father was often impatient during March, waiting for winter to end, the cold to ease, the sun to reappear. March was an unpredictable month, when it was never clear what might happen. Warm days raised hopes until ice and grey skies shut over the town again.
Summer explodes into Portland. In early June the heat was there but not the color--the green were still pale and tentative, the morning had a biting coolness--but by the last week of school everything is Technicolor and splash, outrageous blue skies and purple thunderstorms and ink-black night skies and red flowers as brights as spots of blood.
The biggest change I notice in the winter months is with my skin. I find all the cold weather and central heating leaves it feeling more dull, dry and easily irritated. So for me, finding little ways to make my skincare routine work harder is my winter beauty priority.
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