Rain Spouts Quotes & Sayings

Misery which, through long ages, had no spokesman, no helper, will now be its own helper and speak for itself. — Thomas Carlyle

Wars are not fought for territory, but for words. Man's deadliest weapon is language. He is as susceptible to being hypnotized by slogans as he is to infectious diseases. And where there is an epidemic, the group-mind takes over. — Arthur Koestler

To live and move and have her being in a flow of blue. — Susan Vreeland

Tell me you're sorry.
Tell me you don't hate me enough to hurt me this way. — Chelsea Pitcher

You know where the name hell came from." He crossed his hands on his lap. "After I fell, I kept repeating to myself, God will forgive me. God will forgive me. Centuries of repeating this, I started to shorten it to He'll forgive me. Then finally to one word, He'll. He'll.
"Somewhere along the way, I lost that apostrophe and now it's only Hell. But hidden in that one word is God will forgive me. God will forgive me. That is what is behind my door, you understand. A world of no apostrophes and, therefore, no hope. — Tiffany McDaniel

Guilt implanted at a tender age is not easy to destroy. A weed, it sprouts in unexpected places. — Caryl Rivers

Violence is never the answer, unless you don't feel like talking. — Dov Davidoff

One thing she realized soon was that the rain here was eternal. The weather must have changed since the Emperor's time, because now the tower loomed constantly in its cloud of drizzle; all the long afternoons rain trickled in runnels and gutters and spouts, spattering through gargoyles of hideous beasts and goblins that spat far down on the heads of hurrying clerks. Always the roofs ran with water; it dripped and plopped and splashed through culverts and drains, or sheeted down, a relentless liquid gurgle that never stopped, until she started to imagine that this was the song the tower sang, through all the throats and mouths and pipes of its endless body. — Catherine Fisher

Don't let yesterday use up too much of today. — Julie Hockley

Outside, the rain was still falling steadily; he could hear it pattering on the glass skylight at the far end of the room and cascading into the water-spouts. Inside, no one stirred; all were dozing like himself over their liqueur glasses, pleasantly conscious that they were in the dry. — Joris-Karl Huysmans