Clouds Cotton Candy Quotes

The storm front had finally broken, tatters of cloud pulling apart like cotton candy and sprinkling the sky with the bright sugar grains of stars.

The town itself had been swallowed, strangled, and buried. In a very real sense there was no Augustam and there were no more fat ladies, or pretty girls, or pompous men, or wet-crotched children waving puffy clouds of cotton candy. There was no bustling Italian man here to throw slices of watermelon. Only Crowd, a creature with no body, no head, no mind. Crowd was nothing but a Voice and an Eye, and it was not surprising that Crowd was both God and Mammon. Garraty felt it. He knew the others were feeling it. It was like walking between giants electrical pylons, feeling the tingles and shocks stand every hair on end, making the tongue jitter nuttily in the mouth, making the eyes seem to crackle and shoot of sparks as they rolled in their beds of moisture. Crowd was to be pleased. Crowd was to be worshiped and feared. Ultimately, Crowd was to be made sacrifice unto.

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the clouds overhead blushed cotton-candy pink. Their reflections gleamed on the crystalline waters of Lake Lyn. The horses whinnied, the birds chirped, and Simon and Isabelle crunched their peanut brittle and popcorn. This, Simon thought, was the sound of happiness.

What is the price of freedom! I'm not talking about the physical restraining kind, but the spiritual, mental, emotional kind! If we glance at a tiny bird, it represents the ultimate freedom, the ability to fly, to rise above all, to look down on earth while getting tickled by clouds of cotton candy. But the price of this bird's freedom is living off scrapes of food & sippes of water! I guess the price of freedom is all about living in content. If u need to spread ur wings wide and fly off into the horizon, you need to learn that what you already have can certainly set you FREE!

Tuck watched the sun bubble into the ocean. Columns of vertical cumulus clouds turned to cones of pink cotton candy, then as the sun became a red wafer on the horizon, they turned candy-apple red, with purple rays reaching out of them like searchlights. The water was neon over wet asphalt, blood-spattered gunmetal—colors from the cover of a detective novel where heroes drink hard and beauty is always treacherous.

And then I realize: this isn’t dirty water falling from the sky. It is—literally—blood. I look up, and a droplet of blood splashes directly into my eye. I curse, rubbing my face, trying to get the blood out, but it’s everywhere, it’s like trying to dry off in the middle of the ocean. Shielding my face as best I can, I stare up into the sky. I am in the center of a cyclone. Giant white clouds swirl like a spiraling galaxy above me, the eye a tiny dark speck. The storm rages, throwing out bloody rain like punches, the wind so vicious it tears my clothes and cuts my skin. Representative Belles’s mind is swirling with dark thoughts—bloody thoughts—and they have created the biggest storm I have ever seen. I have to stop the cyclone. I have to get him into a peaceful reverie, something that he can hold on to while I root around his brain, looking for answers. I focus all of my concentration on stopping the bloody rain. The drops come slower and slower. I take a deep breath, imagining the clouds breaking up, spinning into fluffy bits of cotton-candy like clouds. I don’t open my eyes until the sounds of beating rain disappear and I can feel the warmth of the Mediterranean sun on my face.

The prairie is notorious for the suddenness and violence of its weather changes, and that’s especially true in summer. All that grass gives off a tremendous amount of moisture. As the sun beats down, the water vapor rises until it condenses, sometimes as puffy, cotton-candy clouds, and sometimes as black thunderheads towering four miles high. Four

I squeezed through a horde of gum-snapping girls I recognized as seniors from my school. “He did not say that!” “Yes, he did! And you wouldn’t believe what she said!” Please, someone tell me I wouldn’t be that annoying if I had girlfriends. “Sure, you will be.” I whipped around and nearly got a faceful of cotton candy. I moved the purple sugar cloud to the side and glared at my mother. She wore a white, short-sleeved blouse and a patchwork skirt. “You have to stop listening in on my thoughts without my permission, Mom. It’s not cool.” She shoved a piece of cotton candy in my mouth to shut me up. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Clarity. I was strolling along listening in to the crowd.” “Pick up anything interesting?” “Actually, I did. That detective’s son can’t stop checking out your legs. He loves this little pink dress you’ve got on. So much so that he’s actually mad at himself for it.” She shook her head. I blushed. “Did you happen to pick up anything important?” “Like a man walking along thinking, ‘I killed Victoria Happel’?” “Exactly.” “No such luck. But dear, people don’t wander around thinking about their biggest secrets all the time. The killer could be standing right next to me and all I might pick up from him is how he wants to buy some barbequed chicken.” “Have you seen Billy Rawlinson or Frankie Creedon?” I asked. Distaste turned her mouth down. “No. Why are you looking for those scoundrels?” “Billy might be a witness in the case. Or a suspect.” “I’ll keep my eyes out and my mind open.” “Thanks,” I said. “Enjoy invading everyone’s privacy.

Um…It looks like a—oh! It looks like a bunny. Aww, that’s so stinking cute.” The sun melted the cloud a bit, like cotton candy in the heat. Eventually, the cloud finished its dance with the sun and escaped as a circular blob. Livia bit her lip. “Well, that went from a romantic moment to horrifying bunny torture.” Blake laughed, and she wanted to put her head on his chest and feel it rumble through him like a happy earthquake.

Phases of the Love Cloud Week 1: A cloud of feelings form around you. Week 2: It has the texture of cotton candy with an implied sweetness and suggestion of sensuality. Week 3: It lightens to a blinding brightness, as if barely covering the sun. Week 4: The texture become less permeable and hardens like sugar caramelized when making leche flan on too high a fire. Week 5: The cloud darkens gradually and lightning blinks intermittently like a firefly convention in Georgia. Week 6: There’s an eerie silence gathering around the cloud which is growing way out of proportion. Week 8: 200 MPH winds hit, torrential rains and the roof comes off the house. Week 10: There’s not a cloud in the sky. The sun appears. Weeks11-25: Inside you there's a storm of tears that makes Noah's flood look a kiddie-pool. Week 26: A new cloud of feelings form around you...

People flocked like lemmings to the water's edge all across Michigan's vast coastline every pretty summer evening to watch the spectacular sunsets. They were marvelous spectacles, a fireworks display most nights- a kaleidoscope of color and light in the sky, white clouds turning cotton candy pink, Superman ice cream blue, and plum purple, the sun a giant fireball that seemed to melt in the water as it began to slink behind the wavy horizon. Sunsets are one of our simplest and most profound gifts, Sam remembered her grandma telling her years ago as they walked the shoreline looking for witches' stones- the ones with holes in them- or pretty Petoskeys to make matching necklaces. They remind us that we were blessed to have enjoyed a perfect day, and they provide hope that tomorrow will be even better. It's God's way of saying good night with His own brand of fireworks.

They all blur together these days—the smell of manure and buttered popcorn, urine and cotton candy, hay and innocence. He wrings his hands again and then stands up. Bob hobbles over to the corner, goosebumps rippling across his flesh, and he begins to wash off the cloud of white, his costume of the day, the way he is able to meander through any festive occasion with hardly a worry—balloons in hand, a smile on his face, knots twisting in his gut, blood filling his shoes.

There’s nothing like a hot-blooded Filipina with a bad attitude pointing a butterfly knife at you first thing in the morning to get your adrenaline pumping. That wasn’t Mike Murphy’s preferred way to start the day. Once again, Simmy had accused him of cheating on her with another woman. And he was sick of it. It was 6:30 a.m. as the sun rose over Hualalai Mountain and turned the puffy white clouds above Kailua Bay cotton candy pink.

The clouds turned pink and purple in the setting sun. A cotton candy sunset, Mae called it.