56 Quotes Tagged: rain

No matter how hard you try,
You can’t build a rainman.

باران می آمد و روی شیروانی ترانه می نواخت: ترانه ای که اگه آدم اون رو شب، در امنِ آغوش او گوش کنه زیباترین ترانۀ دنیاست. هر قدر باد شدیدتر باشه و بارون تند تر بیاد بازوهاش محکمتر دورت فشرده میشه و تو توی بغلش راحت تری و دیگه از هیچ چیز نمی ترسی. دست کم این احساس منه. تمام عمرم صدای بارون روی شیروانی رو تنها شنیدم. بارون دوست نداره کسی تنها ترانه اش رو گوش بده. من ناکامیش رو خوب حس می کنم

The rain is falling all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.

And in this moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came.

Why is it that showers and even storms seem to come by chance, so that many people think it quite natural to pray for rain or fine weather, though they would consider it ridiculous to ask for an eclipse by prayer?

Do not be angry with the rain; it simply does not know how to fall upwards.

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

There are moments when I think it will never end, that it will last indefinitely. It's like the rain. Here the rain, like everything else, suggests permanence and eternity. I say to myself: it's raining today and it's going to rain tomorrow and the next day, the next week and the next century.

The rain to the wind said,
You push and I'll pelt.'
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged — though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.

Rain comes down through the alders,
Its low conductive voices
Mutter about let-downs and erosions
And yet each drop recalls

The diamond absolutes.

After the rain, the sun will reappear.
There is life. After the pain, the joy will still be here.

Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.

It was raining when Rahel came back to Ayemenem. Slanting silver ropes slammed into loose earth, plowing it up like gunfire. The old house on the hill wore its steep, gabled roof pulled over its ears like a low hat.

The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold, wet day.

Trying to remember old dreams. A voice. Who came in.
And meanwhile the rain, all day, all evening,
quiet steady sound. Before it grew too dark
watched the blue iris leaning under the rain,
the flame of the poppies guttered and went out.
A voice. Almost recalled. There have been times
the gods entered. Entered a room, a cave?
A long enclosure where I was, the fourth wall of it
too distant or too dark to see. The birds are silent,
no moths at the lit windows. Only a swaying rosebush
pierces the table’s reflection, raindrops gazing from it.
There have been hands laid on my shoulders.
What has been said to me,
how has my life replied?
The rain, the rain...