Windy Weather Quotes

Good folk, I have no coin, To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse, I have no silver either, And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusy heather.

Wind is the most skilled hairdresser! Find a windy weather and let your hair be shaped creatively!

If you are a boat that wants to sail in windy weather, you must be more stubborn than the waves!

He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock perched upon his spindle neck to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.

The weather here is windy, balmy, sometimes wet. Desert springtime, with flowers popping up all over the place, trees leafing out, streams gushing down from the mountains. Great time of year for hiking, camping, exploring, sleeping under the new moon and the old stars. At dawn and at evening we hear the coyotes howling with excitement - mating season. And lots of fresh rabbit meat hopping about to feed the young ones with.

I forget what the weather was like that day, probably cloudy with a chance of emotion. All I remember is that it was windy; it was the type of wind that would blow your words in the opposite direction so they would never be heard.

Oh, mightiest wind, wilt thou cease thy breathing in and hold thy exhales?

The inner peace can block any windy weather.

Cordelia's face lent itself to windy and rainy weather.

It's so windy even the trees are having a bad-hair day.

The winter seemed reluctant to let go its bite. It hung on cold and wet and windy long after its time. And people repeated, "It's those damned big guns they're shooting off in France-- spoiling the weather in the whole world.

At first it had no name. It was the thing itself, the vivid thing. It was his friend. On windy days it danced, demented, waving wild arms, or in the silence of evening drowsed and dreamed, swaying in the blue, goldeny air. Even at night it did not go away. Wrapped in his truckle bed, he could hear it stirring darkly outside in the dark, all the long night long. There were others, nearer to him, more vivid still than this, that came and went, talking, but they were wholly familiar, almost a part of himself, while it, steadfast and aloof, belonged to the mysterious outside, to the wind and the weather and the goldeny blue air. It was a part of the world, and yet it was his friend. Look, Nicolas, look! See the big tree! Tree. That was its name. And also: the linden. They were nice words. He had known them a long time before he knew what they meant. They did not mean themselves, they were nothing in themselves, they meant the dancing singing thing outside. In wind, in silence, at night, in the changing air, it changed and yet it was changelessly the tree, the linden tree. That was strange. The wind blew on the day that he left, and everything waved and waved. The linden tree waved. Goodbye!

We get the word etymology from the Greek étymon,’ continued Professor Lovell. ‘The true sense of a word, from étumos, the “true or actual”. So we can think of etymology as an exercise in tracing how far a word has strayed from its roots. For they travel marvellous distances, both literally and metaphorically.’ He looked suddenly at Robin. ‘What’s the word for a great storm in Mandarin?’ Robin gave a start. ‘Ah – fēngbào?’* ‘No, give me something bigger.’ ‘Táifēng?’* ‘Good.’ Professor Lovell pointed to Victoire. ‘And what weather patterns are always drifting across the Caribbean?’ ‘Typhoons,’ she said, then blinked. ‘Taifeng? Typhoon? How—’ ‘We start with Greco-Latin,’ said Professor Lovell. ‘Typhon was a monster, one of the sons of Gaia and Tartarus, a devastating creature with a hundred serpentine heads. At some point he became associated with violent winds, because later the Arabs started using tūfān to describe violent, windy storms. From Arabic it hopped over to Portuguese, which was brought to China on explorers’ ships.

Gardening Work There was a man breaking up the ground, getting ready to plant, when another man came by, "Why are you ruining this land?" "Don't interfere. Nothing can grow here until the earth is turned over and crumbled. There can be no roses and no orchard without first this devastation. You must lance an ulcer to heal. You must tear down parts of an old building to restore it." So it is with the sensual life that has no spirit. A person must face the dragon of his or her appetites with another dragon, the life energy of the soul. When that's not strong, everyone seems to be full of fear and wanting, as one thinks the room is spinning when one's whirling around. If your love has contracted into anger, the atmosphere itself feels threatening, but when you're expansive and clear, no matter what the weather, you're in an open windy field with friends. Many people travel as far as Syria and Iraq and meet only hypocrites. Others go all the way to India and see only people buying and selling. Others travel to Turkestan and China to discover those countries are full of cheats and sneak thieves. You always see the qualities that live in you. A cow may walk through the amazing city of Baghdad and notice only a watermelon rind and a tuft of hay that fell off a wagon. Don't repeatedly keep doing what your lowest self wants. That's like deciding to be a strip of meat nailed to dry on a board in the sun.

The modern comforts and conveniences that now most influence our daily experience—cars, computers, television, climate control, smartphones, ultraprocessed food, and more—have been used by our species for about 100 years or less. That’s around 0.03 percent of the time we’ve walked the earth. Include all the Homos—habilis, erectus, heidelbergensis, neanderthalensis, and us—and open the time scale to 2.5 million years and the figure drops to 0.004 percent. Constant comfort is a radically new thing for us humans. Over these 2.5 million years, our ancestors’ lives were intimately intertwined with discomfort. These people were constantly exposed to the elements. It was either too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry, too windy, or too snowy out. The only escape from the weather was a rudimentary

So tell me about van living,” I say, swallowing a mouthful of sandwich. I’d preprepared the question. Asking questions is a tactic I use when small talk is required—it makes you appear interested while simultaneously putting all the effort of the conversation on the other party. “What do you like about it?” Wally is lying on the blanket, resting on one elbow. “Many things,” he says. “I find the small space cozy, like sleeping in a little cocoon. When it rains, I hear it pelting the roof; when it’s windy, I feel the wind up against the car. It’s like I’m out in it … but protected. What else? I like that I can’t have too many possessions, so when I do buy something, I have to consider whether I really need it. It means I only end up with things that are incredibly useful or very precious. I like that I’m not imprisoned by anything. Debt. Weather. Bad neighbors. My home is wherever I am.

Eventually the term ended and I was on the windy mountain road to camp, still slightly worried that I’d made a wrong turn in life. My doubt, however, was short-lived. The camp delivered on its promise, concentrating all the idylls of youth: beauty manifest in lakes, mountains, people; richness in experience, conversation, friendships. Nights during a full moon, the light flooded the wilderness, so it was possible to hike without a headlamp. We would hit the trail at two A.M., summiting the nearest peak, Mount Tallac, just before sunrise, the clear, starry night reflected in the flat, still lakes spread below us. Snuggled together in sleeping bags at the peak, nearly ten thousand feet up, we weathered frigid blasts of wind with coffee someone had been thoughtful enough to bring. And then we would sit and watch as the first hint of sunlight, a light tinge of day blue, would leak out of the eastern horizon, slowly erasing the stars. The day sky would spread wide and high, until the first ray of the sun made an appearance. The morning commuters began to animate the distant South Lake Tahoe roads. But craning your head back, you could see the day’s blue darken halfway across the sky, and to the west, the night remained yet unconquered—pitch-black, stars in full glimmer, the full moon still pinned in the sky. To the east, the full light of day beamed toward you; to the west, night reigned with no hint of surrender. No philosopher can explain the sublime better than this, standing between day and night. It was as if this were the moment God said, “Let there be light!” You could not help but feel your specklike existence against the immensity of the mountain, the earth, the universe, and yet still feel your own two feet on the talus, reaffirming your presence amid the grandeur.

On October 15, 1959, the day after we arrived at Western Shore, we rented a boat to get over to the island. It was a raw, windy day and by the time we reached the dock, my husband closed the throttle with a firm twist. It snapped clean off. “That’s a good start,” I thought. An omen? Well we were here, so off we went to see the pits. It had been four years since I last saw the pits, and standing there looking down at them I was shocked at their condition. One pit had partially collapsed, leaving broken and twisted timbers around; you could no longer see the water (at the bottom of the pit). In the other, the larger of the two, rotting cribbing was visible, as all the deck planking had been ripped off, exposing it to the weather. Even my son’s face fell momentarily. Looking across the slate grey sea at the black smudges of other islands, I felt utterly wretched. I don’t think I have ever seen a place so bleak and lonely as that island, that day. I just wanted to go home. Soon Bobby’s eyes began to sparkle as he and his dad walked around, talking. They walked here, they walked there, son asking questions, my husband answering…all about the history of the place. I trailed after them, ignored and unnoticed. Finally Bob said it was time for us to go back. Catching sight of my face with its woebegone expression, he started to laugh, “Look,” he said to Bobby, pointing to me, “The reluctant treasure hunter.” They both thought that was hilarious and went off down the hill, roaring with laughter.

When the weather's bad--it's raining, windy, cold--and you're just feeling miserable, put on your shoes, get yourself outside, and take a few steps. Then take a few more, and usually, by the time you reach the end of the block you'll develop a small rhythm, build a bit of momentum, and finally, begin to feel better.

What the hell are you doing here?”  She’s breathing heavy when she stops on the other side of my door, water soaking the floor around her.  “Did you fucking drive here?” I continue. She shakes her head no, and that settles me for only a moment before she admits, “I ran here.”  “That’s eight fucking blocks, Kennedy.”  “Yeah. I’m aware.” I can feel myself amping up again. Can feel the nerves sparking to life, fragile and raw. Does she not understand how dangerous it is to be out in weather like this? She’s dripping from head to toe, probably going to get sick because of it, and she’s lucky something worse didn’t happen to her on the way over here.  My fear speaks for me through my raised voice. “Why the hell would you do that?”  Her shoulders are straight, no hesitation in her tone when she says, “Because I didn’t want you to be alone.

Blustery as Chicago's weather could be, its nickname "The Windy City" actually referred to the regular cycles of boosterism and Babbittry produced by its business community.

Never say no to all the dreams and creative ideas your children have. Never say no to the realization you can become different than your mom or dad. Especially never say no to your kids’ requests to join them, like playing dress up with your little girl or going surfing with your teenager when the weather’s cold and windy. If you say no too often, they’ll stop asking.

An example is the campaign that Goodby, Berlin & Sil- verstein produced for the Northern California Honda Deal- ers Advertising Association (NCHDAA) in 1989. Rather than conform to the stereotypical dealer group advertising ("one of a kind, never to be repeated deals, this weekend 114 Figure 4.1 UNUM: "Bear and Salmon. Figure 4.2 UNUM: "Father and Child." 115 PEELING THE ONION only, the Honda-thon, fifteen hundred dollars cash back . . ." shouted over cheesy running footage), it was decided that the campaign should reflect the tone of the national cam- paign that it ran alongside. After all, we reasoned, the only people who know that one spot is from the national cam- paign and another from a regional dealer group are industry insiders. In the real world, all people see is the name "Honda" at the end. It's dumb having one of (Los Angeles agency) Rubin Postaer's intelligent, stylish commercials for Honda in one break, and then in the next, 30 seconds of car salesman hell, also apparently from Honda. All the good work done by the first ad would be undone by the second. What if, we asked ourselves, we could in some way regionalize the national message? In other words, take the tone and quality of Rubin Postaer's campaign and make it unique to Northern California? All of the regional dealer groups signed off as the Northern California Chevy/Ford/ Toyota Dealers, yet none of the ads would have seemed out of place in Florida or Wisconsin. In fact, that's probably where they got them from. In our research, we began not by asking people about cars, or car dealers, but about living in Northern California. What's it like? What does it mean? How would you describe it to an alien? (There are times when my British accent comes in very useful.) How does it compare to Southern California? "Oh, North and South are very different," a man in a focus group told me. "How so?" "Well, let me put it this way. There's a great rivalry between the (San Francisco) Giants and the (L.A.) Dodgers," he said. "But the Dodgers' fans don't know about it." Everyone laughed. People in the "Southland" were on a different planet. All they cared about was their suntans and flashy cars. Northern Californians, by comparison, were more modest, discerning, less likely to buy things to "make state- ments," interested in how products performed as opposed to 116 Take the Wider View what they looked like, more environmentally conscious, and concerned with the quality of life. We already knew from American Honda—supplied re- search what Northern Californians thought of Honda's cars. They were perceived as stylish without being ostentatious, reliable, understated, good value for the money . . . the paral- lels were remarkable. The creative brief asked the team to consider placing Honda in the unique context of Northern California, and to imagine that "Hondas are designed with Northern Californi- ans in mind." Dave O'Hare, who always swore that he hated advertising taglines and had no talent for writing them, came back immediately with a line to which he wanted to write a campaign: "Is Honda the Perfect Car for Northern Califor- nia, or What?" The launch commercial took advantage of the rivalry between Northern and Southern California. Set in the state senate chamber in Sacramento, it opens on the Speaker try- ing to hush the house. "Please, please," he admonishes, "the gentleman from Northern California has the floor." "What my Southern Californian colleague proposes is a moral outrage," the senator splutters, waving a sheaf of papers at the other side of the floor. "Widening the Pacific Coast Highway . . . to ten lanes!" A Southern Californian senator with bouffant hair and a pink tie shrugs his shoulders. "It's too windy," he whines (note: windy as in curves, not weather), and his fellow Southern Californians high-five and murmur their assent. The Northern Californians go nuts, and the Speaker strug- gles in vain to call everyone to order. The camera goes out- side as th

steered his four-wheel drive up the windy road leading to the Castle Mountain Lodge. His tires crunched on the freshly fallen snow. The plows couldn’t keep up with the thick white stuff covering the roads and Colin was pretty sure they’d given up on trying to keep the roads clear. He hadn’t seen one in over an hour. The weather forecast had said it would

the blustery talk of civic leaders—and not Chicago’s weather—had inspired the “Windy City” moniker.

Luke was about to grab Windy and haul him out of the cave when he heard a man clearing his throat. Both boys turned their heads fast to see a hooded figure standing outside the cave. He was wearing a dark brown robe and holding a staff that was topped by a slender glowrod. The figure pulled back his hood to reveal the weathered face of a white-haired, bearded man. “I’m Ben Kenobi,” the man said. “We don’t have much time if I’m going to get you boys home.

He said: “It is so because I want whatever kind of weather God wants, and because I do, he gives me the harvests I want.”13 If souls resigned to God’s will are humiliated, says Salvian,14 they want to be humiliated; if they are poor, they want to be poor; in short, whatever happens is acceptable to them, hence they are truly at peace in this life. In cold and heat, in rain and wind, the soul united to God says: “I want it to be warm, to be cold, windy, to rain, because God wills it.

In locations rainy and windy, snowy and icy, I noticed three general strategies for embracing the season. The first is to Appreciate Winter: look at winter for what it is, and let it be a time for slowing down. Adapt to the season, using your words and attention to lift up winters pleasures. The second is to Make It Special: lean into the activities and feelings that are unique to this time of year. Revel in coziness, enjoy delights made possible by winter's darkness, and create and savor rituals that imbue the season with meaning. The third is to Get Outside: layer up and enjoy the outdoors in all weather, experiment with winter bathing, and take advantage of the ways your town or city celebrates the season. Together, these three broad approaches help us find opportunities in winter, transforming it from a season of limitation to one full of possibility for meaning, connection, and fun.

Dear August, the end of Summer. Golden Sand is wetty by the rain water. Can I call it rainy season? No I can't. What is the reason behind chilly and windy tan? Three shades of weather, conglomerate together. Whatever! I cannot define, It is my favourite, the August time!

POSITIVE WAYS TO TALK TO KIDS ABOUT THE WEATHER By Josée Bergeron9 If it’s COLD try saying . . . Come and look out the front door! Can you see your breath? That means we need to wear our warm clothing today. If it’s WINDY try saying . . . Can you see the trees swaying in the wind? Today would be a great day to fly a kite. If it’s SNOWING try saying . . . Wow! Look at all those beautiful snowflakes. Let’s go outside and see if we can catch some on our tongues. If it’s RAINING try saying . . . Rain is wonderful for plants and animals. It’s a perfect day to jump in some puddles. If it’s CLOUDY try saying . . . The clouds are hiding the sun. Today would be a great day to look for shapes in the clouds.

6. It’s raining; it’s too cold; it’s too dark; it’s too windy We live in one of the worst climates for rain. But look at it this way, neither the FA Cup Final nor the London Marathon get cancelled because of the rain. Rain is no impediment whatsoever to a run. In many ways it is a bonus feature. There is nothing quite like the feeling you get if you stick two fingers up to the worst of the elements and just run. The world rewards you for your efforts by making you look ten times rosier than after a run in less arduous conditions and leaves you feeling like you could climb Everest. Dress appropriately and go for it. I promise you, when you have done this once you will never use the weather excuse again.

The name “Ketch” is derived from the word "catch," referring to fishing boats which frequently were two-masted sailing boat; having a mainmast that was taller than the other mast, usually named the mizzen or after mast. A ketch is rigged with two masts much the same as a yawl however its after mast and sails are usually larger. What are pleasure boats and yachts now started as cargo vessels or freighters and fishing vessels in the Baltic and North Sea. Normally these boats have a jib or a genoa, a mainsail and an after sail. Additional sails such as a spinnaker can be used when running with the wind. Sometimes they fitted with an engine and called motorsailers, making them more adapt for longer voyages. During inclement and windy weather the mizzen sail is frequently used alone to hold the boat into the wind thus allowing for more stable conditions. In America the two-masted schooners are favored over the ketch rig is preferred in Europe.

It is commonly observed, that when two Englishmen meet, their first talk is of the weather; they are in haste to tell each other, what each must already know, that it is hot or cold, bright or cloudy, windy or calm.

As far as her parents could tell from their vantage point behind the spire, Psyche plummeted to her death. They never found her body, but that didn’t mean anything. It was a windy day, and they were too upset to launch a full-scale search. Besides, if Psyche hadn’t died, that meant the monster of the prophecy had taken her, which was even worse. The king and queen returned home, brokenhearted, convinced they would never see their beloved daughter and favorite tourism magnet again. The end. Not really. In the long run, Psyche would’ve suffered less if she had died, but she didn’t. As she fell from the rock, the winds swirled around her. Forty feet from the valley floor, they slowed her fall and lifted her up. “Hi,” said a disembodied voice. “I’m Zephyrus, god of the west wind. How ya doing today?” “Um…terrified?” said Psyche. “Great,” said Zephyrus. “So we have a short flight this morning, heading over to my master’s palace. Weather looks good. Maybe a little turbulence on our initial ascent.” “Your master’s palace?” “Please remember to keep your seat belt fastened, and don’t disable the smoke detectors in the lavatory.” “What language are you speaking?” Psyche demanded. “What are you talking—AHHH!” The west wind swept her away at a thousand miles an hour, leaving behind Psyche’s stomach and a trail of black flower petals. They touched down in a grassy valley blanketed with wildflowers. Butterflies flitted through the sunlight. Rising in the distance was the most beautiful palace Psyche had ever seen. “Thanks for flying with us today,” Zephyrus said. “We know you have a lot of options when choosing a directional wind, and we appreciate your business. Now, you’d better get going. He’ll be waiting.” “Who—?” But the air turned still. Psyche sensed that the wind god was gone.

The night is dark, the weather is windy, the road is foggy, the ground is snowy, the environment is spooky, and the bends are scary! Here is a great road for you, a road worth traveling! Fall down, get up, get stuck in the snow, and get out of the snow. If you want to go a long way in this chaotic universe, you need to be a student in a school like this road!