Wind Whisper Quotes & Sayings

His stories were not always new, but there was in the telling of them a special kind of magic. His voice could roll like thunder or hush down into a zepherlike whisper. He could imitate the voices of a dozen men at once; whistle so like a bird that the birds themselves would come to him to hear what he had to say; and when when he imitated the howl of a wolf, the sound could raise the hair on the backs of his listeners' necks and strike a chill into their hearts like the depths of a Drasnian winter. He could make the sound of rain and of wind and even, most miraculously, the sound of snow falling. — David Eddings

The trees all whisper, leaves gossiping. The stones are heavy thinkers, the sullen silent types. He used to make up stories for everything in nature, giving it all voices, lives. If the moor wind ever sings, you mustn't listen, not with all of your ears. Use only the edges. Listen the way you'd look out the corners of your eyes. The wind is lonely, love, and always looking for company. — Victoria Schwab

Will you remember that? Anywhere you are, if you can look up and find Perseus in the sky, find that smile, and hear the galactic wind whisper your name, you'll know that it's me, calling for you ... calling you back to Lazarevo. (Alexander) — Paullina Simons

The trees change their voices in autumn as well as their shapes. No longer do they whisper to one another in muffled tones as they did in summer; they talk in a different leaf-language now. The wind moves through the boughs like fingers drawn across the strings of a harp filling the air with the harsh dry sound of sapless leaves. It is the main theme of the autumn music, this murmuring counterpoint of dead leaves. — Patience Strong

There have been times, what with this and that,
when the whisper of words was not enough.
On some shelf of memory lies a misplaced summer,
one not stored away for later savoring.
Surely it ended early, with unexpected fogs,
with the wind sliding past through unmeasured darkness.
No voice could be enough, what with this and that,
and the hours falling faster. — Paul Bowles

Blue water extends in rows of gentle ripples to a thin line of barely visible cottonwoods on the far side. The wind dies to a whisper and it's quiet, almost perfectly still except for the snap of grasshoppers leaping from the weeds. To the west the mountains rise suddenly, almost violently from the sandy brown of the plains, layered silhouettes of blue and green and gray rising to a turquoise sky. My heart is filled with the beauty of it all. — Kristen Iversen

One day, you'll tell people the story of the faery king and the human girl. And how he watched from afar as she lived out twenty thousand human days. And if she listened closely during winter, when the wind was cold and the nights were longest, she could hear him whisper that he cherished her so much he was willing to give her the world. — Elizabeth May

It is well, says a soothing whisper in my ear like the wind. My heart is beating too fast. I remember what I'd said that day at the Grand Canyon. We can talk peace when You get rid of the demons. Well, I'll be damned. I think I've just been humbled. — Wendy Higgins

I pick up my knitting and wind the yarn around my fingers so I can finish the row. The needles whisper softly as they slide against each other, as if telling secrets. — Lynn Austin

a light wind stole through the trees, making the leaves dance and whisper. — Jacob Gowans

I'm already there
Take a look around
I'm the sunshine in your hair
I'm the shadow on the ground
I'm the whisper in the wind
I'm your imaginary friend
And I know I'm in your prayers — Lonestar

Now he wondered what use it would be. For Kaspar's death would not bring back his father, Elk's Call at Dawn, or his mother, Whisper of the Night Wind. His brother, Hand of the Sun, and his little sister Miliana would remain dead. The only time he would hear the voice of his grandfather, Laughter in His Eyes, would be in his memory. Nothing would change. No farmer outside Krondor would suddenly stand up in wonder and say, "A wrong has been righted." No boot-maker in Roldem would look up from his bench and say, "A people has been avenged. — Raymond E. Feist

Take a discovery walk today to find what's missing in your life. There's peace in the whisper of the wind, hope in the sun smiling from behind clouds, strength in every step forward. You can do it! — Toni Sorenson

"I can't give you all the things I once hoped to," he says. "But I can give you a family and a home. I love you, Al. I just hope you can love a simple mechanic."
I wind my fingers through the wavy hair at his neck. I admire this side of him most of all ... his fragility, his flaws. His strength in spite of them. And now, he sees that strength with as much clarity and confidence as I always have.
"There will never be anything simple about you," I whisper. "And I already love you. — A.G. Howard

BUT MOST PEOPLE ARE RATHER STUPID AND WASTE THEIR LIVES. HAVE YOU NOT SEEN THAT? HAVE YOU NOT LOOKED DOWN FROM THE HORSE AT A CITY AND THOUGHT HOW MUCH IT RESEMBLED AN ANT HEAP, FULL OF BLIND CREATURES WHO THINK THEIR MUNDANE LITTLE WORLD WAS REAL? YOU SEE THE LIGHTED WINDOWS AND WHAT YOU WANT TO THINK IS THAT THERE MAY BE MANY INTERESTING STORIES BEHIND THEM, BUT WHAT YOU KNOW IS THAT REALLY THERE ARE JUST DULL, DULL SOULS, MERE CONSUMERS OF FOOD, WHO THINK THEIR INSTINCTS ARE EMOTIONS AND THEIR TINY LITTLE LIVES OF MORE ACCOUNT THAN A WHISPER OF WIND.
The blue glow was bottmless. It seemed to be sucking her own thoughts out of her mind.
'No,' whispered Susan, 'no, I've never thought like that.'
Death stood up abruptly and turned away. YOU MAY FIND OUT THAT IT HELPS, he said. — Terry Pratchett

Kiril. His name was but a whisper upon the wind, a sigh upon her lips.
Her gaze silently begged him while her hands continued their magic upon his aching cock. As if he could deny her
or himself
the pleasure that awaited. — Donna Grant

I sit alone in a dead world. The wind blows hot and dry, and the dust gathers like particles of memory waiting to be swept away. I pray for forgetfulness, yet my memory remains strong, as does the outstretched arm of the oppressive air. It seems as if the wind has been there since the beginning of the nightmare. Sometimes loud and harsh, a thousand sharp needles scratching at my reddened skin. Sometimes a whisper, a curious sigh in the black of night, of words more frightening than pain. I know now the wind has been speaking to me. Only I couldn't understand because I was too scared. I am scared now as I write these words. Still, there is nothing else to do. — Christopher Pike

Then starting home, he walked toward the trees, and under them, leaving behind him the big sky, the whisper of wind voices in the wind-bent wheat. — Truman Capote

One day it had rained before sunrise, and a soft spring wind had been blowing ever since, a soothing and persuading wind, that seemed to draw out the buds from the secret places of the dry twigs, and whisper to the roots of the rose-trees that their flowers would be wanted by and by. — George MacDonald

The humming of Kayn's blood that coursed through her veins seemed to sing along to the steady, almost tribal, beat of her feet as they pounded rhythmically into the dirt. A veil of earth flowed behind her; she resembled a flaxen haired angel attempting to outrun a cloud. The cloud of dust seemed to follow her for a moment or two longer than it should, with not one whisper of wind in the afternoon air. (The Children of Ankh series) — Kim Cormack

The whisper of wind's finger tips through the steady calmness of your hair is a poetic beauty that plays with my heart and nobility of your words leaves other speeches colorless. Looking into nature, everywhere in my sight I see you. In spring, in river, in sea, in flower, in tree, in forest, in valley, in plain, in mountain. Still, I'm gaga over you that you are whole love in one body and entire desire in a cloth. — Khosro Shakibaee

So travel with me, beyond the small illusions. Dance with me among the clouds, where infinite dreams show not-yet-discovered truths of being. Let the wind whisper passionately against your mouth, inhale deep the endless creativity, dance with the fluttering petals of my spirits concerto. — Cheri Bauer

Villages that had been groaning beneath the iron weight of Stalin's hand breathed a sigh of relief. And the many millions confined in the camps rejoiced. Columns of prisoners were marching to work in deep darkness. The barking of guard dogs drowned out their voices. And suddenly, as if the northern lights had flashed the words through their ranks: "Stalin has died." As they marched on under guard, tens of thousands of prisoners passed the news on in a whisper: "He's croaked ... he's croaked ... " Repeated by thousand upon thousand of people, this whisper was like a wind. Over the polar lands it was still black night. But the ice in the Arctic Ocean had broken; you could now hear the roar of an ocean of voices. — Vasily Grossman

It throbbed and pulsed, channeled by elemental forces of fear, love, hope, and sadness. The bow stabbed and flitted across the strings in a violent whorl of creation; its hairs tore and split until it seemed the last strands would sever in a scrape of dissonance. Those who saw the last fragile remnants held their breath against the breaking. The music rippled across the ship like a spirit, like a thing alive and eldritch and pregnant with mystery. The song held. More than held, it deepened. It groaned. It resounded in the hollows of those who heard. Then it softened into tones long, slow, and patient and reminded men of the faintest stars trembling dimly in defiance of a ravening dark. At the last, when the golden hairs of the bow had given all the sound they knew, the music fled in a whisper. Fin was both emptied and filled, and the song sighed away on the wind. — A.S. Peterson

I am a plant, she said, I need fire, earth, water. Otherwise I will be stunted. And: Is marriage not such a stunting? The fire goes out. The wind grows weak. The earth dries out. The water dwindles. I would die. You too. She tossed her hair over her shoulders. Purple lavender. And what if it wasn't like that, I argued. What if the daily routine, our daily routine, is my promise to you? Your toothbrush next to mine. You get annoyed because I've forgotten to turn the light off in the bathroom. We choose wallpaper we think is horrible a year later. You tell me I'm getting a belly. Your forgetfulness. You've left your umbrella somewhere again. I snore, you can't sleep. In my dream I whisper your name...You tie my tie. Wave goodbye to me as I go to work. I think: you are like a fluttering flag. I think it with a stabbing pain in my heart. For Heaven's sake, is that not enough? Is that not enough to be happy? She turned away: Give me time. I'll think about it. — Milena Michiko Flasar

She is in every ray of sunshine that shines too bright, in the whisper of the wind against my skin as we board the plane. — Kendall Ryan

Unwinter did not wind his Horn or glance back. He did not lift an armored hand to summon his knights. He did not command them to follow. And yet. The whisper became a rustle, the rustle deepened to a throbbing, the throbbing swelled into a roar. The highborn fullbloods of Unwinter, pale and wasted, sallied forth clasped in their own black armor, riding by two and three on the nightmare mounts enticed from the Dreaming Sea's foaming edge. — Lilith Saintcrow

At Vipers, when the German gunners shot Afroze who chose to cry out his grief knowing the consequences rather than bear the death of a beloved in silence, a whisper burbled across the field: Ina lillahi wa inna illayhi rajiun. The men of the 40th, not all of them Muslim, whispered the words for the two dead men, and the prayer would have reached the gunners as wind on water or the sighs of ghosts. — Kamila Shamsie

Do you hear the stellar winds, carrying from the heavens a whisper, straight from antiquity ... into eternity ... "
What are they whispering?"
Tatiana ... Tatiana ... Ta ... tiana ... "
Please stop."
Will you remember that? Anywhere you are, if you can look up and find Perseus in the sky, find that smile, and hear the galactic wind whisper your name, you'll know that it's me, calling for you ... calling you back to Lazarevo. — Paullina Simons

I hear. Nobody thinks so. But I do. Sometimes people whisper. Sometimes they yell. Sometimes they say mean things. I see more than the TV. It's my friend. I don't have any others, like the kids on Barney do. Why are people afraid of me? I don't want to hurt them. I taste only the sweet air, whooshed through tubes to help me breathe. If I'm lucky a bit of flavor comes with the wind or skin or clothes I smell. I wish my mouth would let me tell Mama I love her. Let me tell Daddy I ms him. Let me tell Shane how good I feel when I see him happy with Alex. I like when I swim because when I float, I am free. I like when I sleep because I dance when I dream. I hear, I see, I taste, I smell, I feel, I dream. — Ellen Hopkins

As though eavesdropping, the whistling wind refuses to speak above a whisper. The winding road is cut into the side of the mountain in such a way that it seems they are not making any progress; the walk down will require endurance. She looks up at the cluster of clouds which have been pencilled in neatly against the sky, and hopes it doesn't rain. It occurs rapidly, a geisha brusquely folding shut her fan; the sun sets, and brilliant darkness replaces light. — Curtis Ackie

For the man was canny, he was intuitive, he anticipated everything. He continually looked over his shoulders, he looked into the background with mirrors, he locked his sleeping room at night, he could pick out a whisper in the wind, he could register the slightest added value a man put into his words, he could probably read the faltering and perfidy in Bob's face. He once numbered the spades on a playing card that skittered across the street a city block away; he licked his daughter's cut finger and there wasn't even a scar the next day; he wrestled with his son and the two Fords at once one afternoon and rarely even tilted - it was like grappling with a tree. When Jesse predicted rain, it rained; when he encouraged plants, they grew; when he scorned animals, they retreated; whomever he wanted to stir, he astonished. — Ron Hansen

There is a beautiful moment in the bible when the prophet Elijah feels God's resence. The Scriptures say that a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart, but God was not in the wind. After the wind, there was an earthquake, but God was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. It was the whisper of God. Today we can hear the whisper where we least expect it; in a baby refugee and in a homeless rabbi, in crack addicts and displaced children, in a groaning creation. — Shane Claiborne

So you keep catching them words, you hear? Pluck them out of the wind. String them together like the finest set of pearls. Line them up on paper. And if it hurts too much to say them, then you sing them, or whisper them, or write them into a story. But don't waste them. Your words matter more than you know. — Natalie Lloyd

There should have been a dark whisper in the wind. Or maybe a deep chill in the bone. Something. An ethereal song only Elizabeth or I could hear. A tightness in the air. Some textbook premonition. There are misfortunes we almost expect in life - what happened to my parents, for example - and then there are other dark moments, moments of sudden violence that alter everything. There was my life before the tragedy. There is my life now. The two have very little in common. — Harlan Coben

Every small town has at least one house the children whisper about; the type of house that has always been abandoned; where the once pristine white paint has faded to a grimy gray; where the windows are boarded, and the lawn never grows; where children hold their breath and close their eyes as they pass by. A house that sounds like it contains an army of whispering spirits when the wind whistles through the nearby trees.

In the town of Blackwood, that house could be found on Creep Street. It had stood there as long as he could remember. — The Blood Brothers

Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,
And the Wild is calling, calling...let us go — Robert W. Service

In one picture, the pool was half hidden by a fringe of mace- weeds, and the dead willow was leaning across it at a prone, despondent angle, as if mysteriously arrested in its fall towards the stagnant waters. Beyond, the alders seemed to strain away from the pool, exposing their knotted roots as if in eternal effort. In the other drawing, the pool formed the main portion of the foreground, with the skeleton tree looming drearily at one side. At the water's farther end, the cat-tails seemed to wave and whisper among themselves in a dying wind; and the steeply barring slope of pine at the meadow's terminus was indicated as a wall of gloomy green that closed in the picture, leaving only a pale of autumnal sky at the top. ("Genius Loci") — Clark Ashton Smith

I'll find my way back to you, Brooke Sommerfield. As sure as the sun is gonna rise in the mornin', I'll find you, I whisper into the wind. - River — Laura Miller

At the Moor
Wanderer in the black wind; quietly the dry reeds whisper
In the stillness of the moor. In the gray sky
A flock of wild birds follows;
Slanting over gloomy waters.
Turmoil. In decayed hut
The spirit of putrescence flutters with black wings.
Crippled birches in the autumn wind.
Evening in deserted tavern. The way home is scented all around
By the soft gloom of grazing herds;
Apparition of the night; toads plunge from brown waters. — Georg Trakl

Dr. Praxton agreed. "And I say if you're going to kill from the neck so not to supply the brain, you deliver the kill shot to both carotid arteries. A one sided brain is a worthless walking corpse. But the mistake would be allowing him to keep walking."
Daniel hesitated, thinking on Dr. Praxton's words. "Taking his voice may force him out."
"But the freaking idiot had no voice to begin with," Tot complained.
Daniel nodded. "Yes, that indeed ... which brings me to the question; what exactly is the nature of his Degale state?"
"He is Dumb, so his sense of hearing is amplified within the Baremata Stream. And like a whisper in the wind, The Dementor dements by feeding back the glimpses he catches in the Stream," Curl replied. — Dew Platt

Would you like to?" he says. His voice is hardly audible above the wind
so low it's barely a whisper.
"Would I like to what?" My heart is roaring, rushing in my ears, and though
there are still several inches between his hand and mine, there's a zipping,
humming energy that connects us, and from the heat flooding my body you
would think we were pressed together, palm to palm, face to face.
"Dance," he says, at the same time closing those last few inches and finding
my hand and pulling me closer, and at that second the song hits a high note and I
confuse the two impressions, of his hand and the soaring, the lifting of the music.
We dance. — Lauren Oliver

He's focused on something - or someone - over her shoulder.
The harmonious warbling of the rainforest morphs into organized disarray, as if a primitive maestro has thrown conducting to the wind and let Mother Nature take over. Birds trill a warning as the breeze rustles the plant life. Wings flutter overhead. A crescendo of stridulation changes tempo, the insects seemingly performing a sonata as the rhythm shifts yet again.
"What - who is it?" Summer asks in a strained whisper.
His gaze lands on her, his brows furrowing. "The Forsaken. — Laura Kreitzer

A merchant came by a few years ago - he told me there was a mortal High King who had set himself up there. But I heard a whisper on the wind recently that said he'd been deposed by a young woman with wine-red hair who now calls herself their High Queen. — Sarah J. Maas

I CANNOT tell you now;
When the wind's drive and whirl
Blow me along no longer,
And the wind's a whisper at last
Maybe I'll tell you then
some other time.
When the rose's flash to the sunset
Reels to the rack and the twist,
And the rose is a red bygone,
When the face I love is going
And the gate to the end shall clang,
And it's no use to beckon or say, "So long"
Maybe I'll tell you then
some other time.
I never knew any more beautiful than you:
I have hunted you under my thoughts,
I have broken down under the wind
And into the roses looking for you.
I shall never find any
greater than you. — Carl Sandburg

And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand. — Oscar Wilde

Humbly let go. Let go of trying to do, let go of trying to control, let go of my own way, let go of my own fears. Let God blow His wind, His trials, oxygen for joy's fire. Leave the hand open and be. Be at peace. Bend the knee and be small and let God give what God chooses to give because He only gives love and whisper a surprised thanks. This is the fuel for joy's flame. Fullness of joy is discovered only in the emptying of will. And I can empty. I can empty because counting His graces has awakened me to how He cherishes me, holds me, passionately values me. I can empty because I am full of His love. I can trust. — Ann Voskamp

BUDGE (muffled)
No,no,nono.
NURSE BAKER
I understand what you're trying to say.
BUDGE
A hideous scream.
NURSE BAKER
Exactly.
BUDGE
A cry of desperation.
NURSE BAKER
Perfect.
BUDGE
A strangled sob. A plea torn from my throat. What sound can I make to convince you I'm not the one you want? A disconsolate sigh? Maybe that's what you want to hear. The smallest human moan imaginable. A whisper in a corner of an unlit room, with curtains blowing in the wind.
NURSE BAKER
What could be more touching? — Don DeLillo

Be careful." The man winks again. " Or next time, you'll wind up on your hands and knees." He leans in to whisper, just for me. "Exactly where you belong." His words shock me, piercing the haze of desire. "What did you say?" I gasp. "You heard me." He tilts his head, giving me a lazy grin. "Take care, Keely. — Roxy Sloane

I'll not always be here on guard. The stars twinkle in the Milky Way and the wind sighs for songs across the empty fields of a planet a Galaxy away.
You won't always be here.
But before you go, whisper this to your sons and their sons - The work was free. Keep it so. — L. Ron Hubbard

Questions are for the benefit of every student, not just the one raising his hand. If you don't have the starch to stand up in class and admit what you don't understand, then I don't have the time to explain it to you. If you don't have a policy against nonsense you can wind up with a dozen timid little rabbits lined up in the hall outside your office, all waiting to whisper the same imbecilic question in your ear. — Ann Patchett

You see the lighted windows and what you want to think is that there may be many interesting stories behind them, but what you know is that really there are just dull, dull souls, mere consumers of food, who think their instincts are emotions and their tiny lives of more account than a whisper of wind. — Terry Pratchett

A bird is safe when it's closed in a cage, but it isn't living. It isn't flying. You have beautiful wings desperate to stretch out and catch the wind. Don't. Let. Anyone. Stop you."
"And what happens," I whisper, "when I fall?"
"Then you have someone waiting to catch you. That's the right kind of safe. — Rachel Morgan

Again, I whisper.
The corner of his mouth lifts, and then I kiss him. Not so gently this time. His hands drop from my face and grab my waist and pull me to him. A small soft groan excapes him, and that noise makes me feel absolutely crazy. I lose it. I wind my hands around his neck and kiss him without holding anything back. I can feel his heart thundering like mine, his breath coming faster, his arms tightening around me.
And then I can feel what he feels. He's waited for this moment. He loves how I feel in his arms. He loves the smell of my hair. He loves the way I looked at him just now, flushed and wanting more from him. He loves the color of my lips and now the taste of my mouth is making his knees feel weak and he doesn't want to seem weak in front of me. So i draw back, and his breath comes out in a rush. His arms drop away from me. — Cynthia Hand

God, in his wisdom, sent us his angels, to whisper our names on the wind. God, in his anger, released his devils, to pester our souls to the end. — Sam Cheever

Caught like a leaf in the wind
Lookin' for a friend
Where can you turn
Whisper the words of a prayer and you'll find Him there
Arms open wide, love in His eyes
Jesus - He meets you where you are
Jesus - He heals your secret scars
All the love you're looking for is Jesus
The friend of a wounded heart — Wayne Watson

He kissed my lips, his skin warm in spite of the cool winter wind whipping past us. His whisper would have been lost on me before, but now I heard every word. "What do you want, Raven? — Lisa Kessler

And still the storm approaches. And there's nothing I can do. So I wait and watch and feel his breath against my face, cool and brave. His salt licks my skin, his promise brushes my hair. His fury drives the wind to touch my cheek and whisper something I can't hear.
I think he loves me.
I think he comes to see me.
I am young. I will learn — Terry Moore

Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves. — Carl Sandburg

Nothing is ever truly set by fate. In one blink, everything changes. Even though it should be a clear, sunny day, the softest whisper into the wind can become a hurricane that destroys everything it touches. (Acheron) — Sherrilyn Kenyon

All still when summer is over stand shocks in the field, nothing left to whisper, not even good-bye, to the wind. After summer was over we knew winter would come: we knew silence would wait, tall, patient calm. — William Stafford

Do you feel that? It is a calm shift in the wind.
Do you hear that? It is a soft whisper of hope.
Do you see that? It is the divine hand of guidance, mercifully extended to aid our good fight. — Richelle E. Goodrich

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
- The Hollow Men — T. S. Eliot

I am being lured back to the way of Jesus. I am finding it - sorry for this - spiritual. I'd kind of forgotten how compelling the Spirit is. He is the fresh wind everyone is looking for. He reminds me I am a member of a grand assembly that inspires and stirs and empowers. On bad days, when I secretly whisper, "Is this all there is?" the Spirit urges me to join Him at the bottom, where the best grassroots movements have always begun. — Jen Hatmaker

Yeah, I'm just trying to figure out what it means. I've never heard of bonds sharing languages either, and yet ... '
I pull her even closer, feeling an explosion of heat rush between us as I whisper, 'I think it means we were meant to be together.
'If you two start making out I will fling you out of the wind bubble,' Gus warns.
I can't help laughing. — Shannon Messenger

This sweet virginal primitive land will metaphorically breathe a sigh of relief
like a whisper of wind
when we are all and finally gone and the place and its creations can return to their ancient procedures unobserved and undisturbed by the busy, anxious, brooding consciousness of man. — Edward Abbey

The night was shadows and wind and the smell of a storm on the way, a night for crying until the tears were gone but the ache was left. A night for imagining that you could step out onto the windowsill and say hello to the dark, say I am sad and have the wind say I know. You could say I am alive and the trees would sigh back We are too. You could whisper I am alone and everything ends and the stars in the sky would answer We understand. Or maybe it's ghosts telling you all these things, saying We know, we're alone too, we understand how everything and nothing ends. — Ally Condie

The darkness grew apace; a cold wind began to blow in freshening gusts from the east, and the showering white flakes in the air increased in number. From the edge of the sea came a ripple and whisper. Beyond these lifeless sounds the world was silent. Silent? It would be hard to convey the stillness of it. All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the cries of birds, the hum of insects, the stir that makes the background of our lives - all that was over. — H.G.Wells

He deserved to be loved out loud, and my love was a whisper in the wind that obviously only he could hear. — Brittainy C. Cherry

For the first time in four billion years a living creature had contemplated himself and heard with a sudden, unaccountable loneliness, the whisper of the wind in the night reeds. — Loren Eiseley

I watch my loved ones weep with sorrow,
death's silent torment of no tomorrow.
I feel their hearts breaking, I sense their despair,
United in misery, the grief that they share.
How do I show that, I am not gone ...
but the essence of life's everlasting song
Why do they wee? Why do they cry?
I'm alive in the wind and I am soaring high.
I am sparkling light dancing on streams,
a moment of warmth in the fays of sunbeams.
The coolness of rain as it falls on your face,
the whisper of leaves as wind rushes with haste.
Eternal Song, a requiem by Avian of Celieria
from Crown of Crystal Flame by C.L. Wilson — C.L. Wilson

...and the sound of her low voice seemed to have the accompaniment of all the other sounds, full of mystery, desolation, and sorrow, I had ever heard - the ripple of the river, the soughing of the trees swayed by the wind, the murmurs of the crowds, the faint ring of incomprehensible words cried from afar, the whisper of a voice speaking from beyond the threshhold of an eternal darkness. — Joseph Conrad

If you listen to the wind very carefully, you'll be able to hear me whisper my love for you. — Andrew Davidson

Her laughter sounded like April showers, like whispered secrets, like glass wind-chimes. — Rebecca McNutt

He's stronger than this. He's always been stronger ... (Vane)
Even the mightiest oak can be felled by a whisper of a wind if it comes on the heels of a powerful enough storm. (Carson) — Sherrilyn Kenyon

Out of the starless night that covers me,
(O tribulation of the wind that rolls!)
Black as the cloud of some tremendous spell,
The susurration of the sighing sea
Sounds like the sobbing whisper of two souls
That tremble in a passion of farewell.
To the desires that trebled life in me,
(O melancholy of the wind that rolls!)
The dreams that seemed the future to foretell,
The hopes that mounted herward like the sea,
To all the sweet things sent on happy souls,
I cannot choose but bid a mute farewell.
And to the girl who was so much to me
(O lamentation of this wind that rolls!)
Since I may not the life of her compel,
Out of the night, beside the sounding sea,
Full of the love that might have blent our souls,
A sad, a last, a long, supreme farewell. — William Ernest Henley

Three young cats with starlight in their eyes and the whisper of ancient wind in their fur.
-Rock, Cats of the Clans — Erin Hunter

He said human beings were like a wind blowing. He said that sometimes we're loud and sometimes we're a whisper, sometimes we're warm and sometimes we're frighteningly cold. But however we blow, we blow onwards, and leave no sign of us behind. — Ali Shaw