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Quotes About Fog

Quotes tagged as "fog" (showing 1-30 of 46)
Jarod Kintz
“I have a beard of fog that I wear on misty mornings. It’s not cigarette smoke, but I’d understand if you wanted to shave it off and inhale it.”
Jarod Kintz, At even one penny, this book would be overpriced. In fact, free is too expensive, because you'd still waste time by reading it.

Jarod Kintz
“I’d rather fake my own fog, than fake a steamy love scene. Can I interest you in some mist? It’s homemade.”
Jarod Kintz, This is the best book I've ever written, and it still sucks

Jarod Kintz
“Sometimes, when I first wake up, I feel like I’m walking around in a fog. That’s when I usually go and unplug the fog machine. Geez, who turned that thing on?”
Jarod Kintz, This is the story my great-grandfather told my father, who then told my grandfather, who then told me about how The Mythical Mr. Boo, Charles Manseur Fizzlebush Grissham III, better known as Mr. Fizzlebush, and Orafoura are all in fact me...
tags: fog

Jarod Kintz
“I can bench press steam, but not fog. I just have to wait until the fog lifts itself.
”
Jarod Kintz, This Book Title is Invisible

Eugene O'Neill
“The fog was where I wanted to be. Halfway down the path you can’t see this house. You’d never know it was here. Or any of the other places down the avenue. I couldn’t see but a few feet ahead. I didn’t meet a soul. Everything looked and sounded unreal. Nothing was what it is. That’s what I wanted—to be alone with myself in another world where truth is untrue and life can hide from itself. Out beyond the harbor, where the road runs along the beach, I even lost the feeling of being on land. The fog and the sea seemed part of each other. It was like walking on the bottom of the sea. As if I had drowned long ago. As if I was the ghost belonging to the fog, and the fog was the ghost of the sea. It felt damned peaceful to be nothing more than a ghost within a ghost.”
Eugene O'Neill, Long Day's Journey Into Night

Ray Bradbury
“One day many years ago a man walked along and stood in the sound of the ocean on a cold sunless shore and said, "We need a voice to call across the water, to warn ships; I'll make one. I'll make a voice like all of time and all of the fog that ever was; I'll make a voice that is like an empty bed beside you all night long, and like an empty house when you open the door, and like trees in autumn with no leaves. A sound like the birds flying south, crying, and a sound like November wind and the sea on the hard, cold shore. I'll make a sound that's so alone that no one can miss it, that whoever hears it will weep in their souls, and hearths will seem warmer, and being inside will seem better to all who hear it in the distant towns. I'll make me a sound and an apparatus and they'll call it a Fog Horn and whoever hears it will know the sadness of eternity and the briefness of life."

The Fog Horn blew.”
Ray Bradbury, The Fog Horn

Charles Dickens
“LONDON. Michaelmas Term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln’s Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill. Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snow-flakes — gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun. Dogs, undistinguishable in mire. Horses, scarcely better; splashed to their very blinkers. Foot passengers, jostling one another’s umbrellas in a general infection of ill-temper, and losing their foot-hold at street-corners, where tens of thousands of other foot passengers have been slipping and sliding since the day broke (if the day ever broke), adding new deposits to the crust upon crust of mud, sticking at those points tenaciously to the pavement, and accumulating at compound interest.

Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards, and hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats. Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; fog in the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper, down in his close cabin; fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of his shivering little ’prentice boy on deck. Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon, and hanging in the misty clouds.

Gas looming through the fog in divers places in the streets, much as the sun may, from the spongey fields, be seen to loom by husbandman and ploughboy. Most of the shops lighted two hours before their time — as the gas seems to know, for it has a haggard and unwilling look.

The raw afternoon is rawest, and the dense fog is densest, and the muddy streets are muddiest near that leaden-headed old obstruction, appropriate ornament for the threshold of a leaden-headed old corporation, Temple Bar. And hard by Temple Bar, in Lincoln’s Inn Hall, at the very heart of the fog, sits the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery.”
Charles Dickens, Bleak House

Raymond Chandler
“Under the thinning fog the surf curled and creamed, almost without sound, like a thought trying to form inself on the edge of consciousness.”
Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep

Vladimir Nabokov
“Children of her type contrive the purest philosophies. Ada had worked out her own little system. Hardly a week had elapsed since Van’s arrival when he was found worthy of being initiated in her web of wisdom. An individual’s life consisted of certain classified things: "real things" which were unfrequent and priceless, simply "things" which formed the routine stuff of life; and "ghost things," also called "fogs," such as fever, toothache, dreadful disappointments, and death. Three or more things occurring at the same time formed a "tower," or, if they came in immediate succession, they made a "bridge." "Real towers" and "real bridges" were the joys of life, and when the towers came in a series, one experienced supreme rapture; it almost never happened, though. In some circumstances, in a certain light, a neutral "thing" might look or even actually become "real" or else, conversely, it might coagulate into a fetid "fog." When the joy and the joyless happened to be intermixed, simultaneously or along the ramp of duration, one was confronted with "ruined towers" and "broken bridges.”
Vladimir Nabokov, Ada, or Ardor: A Family Chronicle

Rudyard Kipling
“A thin grey fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for summer was in England.”
Rudyard Kipling, The Light That Failed [Illustrated]

Jarod Kintz
“My mom and dad died, but in their place I got a house of fog that’s easy to hide my feelings in. (No smoking, please.)
”
Jarod Kintz, A Zebra is the Piano of the Animal Kingdom

Vera Nazarian
“Desire is like fog on a bathroom mirror -- its presence incites you to wipe the mirror, and see yourself clearly again.”
Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

Jarod Kintz
“I eat fog for breakfast, and I shit out steamy love scenes from the 80s.”
Jarod Kintz, Who Moved My Choose?: An Amazing Way to Deal With Change by Deciding to Let Indecision Into Your Life

Leslie Connor
“In the morning I woke like a sloth in the fog.”
Leslie Connor, Waiting for Normal

Umberto Eco
“I returned to the courtyard and saw that the sun had grown weaker. Beautiful and clear as it had been, the morning (as the day approached the completion of its first half) was becoming damp and misty. Heavy clouds moved from the north and were invading the top of the mountain, covering it with a light brume. It seemed to be fog, and perhaps fog was also rising from the ground, but at that altitude it was difficult to distinguish the mists that rose from below and those that come down from above. It was becoming hard to discern the bulk of the more distant buildings.”
Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

Erin Bow
“At night the fog was thick and full of light, and sometimes voices.”
Erin Bow, Plain Kate

Alexis  Hall
“When I was lost in the fog, it was as though nothing else existed. And, afterwards, it seemed incomprehensible that I had ever really thought like that. Self-recrimination inevitably followed.”
Alexis Hall, Glitterland

Eugene O'Neill
“It wasn't the fog I minded, Cathleen. I really love fog. [...] It hides you from the world and the world from you. You feel that everything has changed, and nothing is what it seemed to be. No one can find or touch you any more.”
Eugene O'Neill, Long Day's Journey Into Night

Jarod Kintz
“His thin accusation hung thick in the air like fog smoking a cigarette.”
Jarod Kintz

Erin Bow
“The night was white-blind with fog, and Kate staggered over every stone and stumbled in every puddle, but she pushed on as fast as she could.”
Erin Bow, Plain Kate

Jarod Kintz
“I feel like I’m walking around in a fog. Orafoura doesn’t call me Mr. Mist for nothing.
”
Jarod Kintz, 99 Cents For Some Nonsense

Jarod Kintz
“Love is like water, except it’s either fog or ice. I make love like a steamy 32 degrees.
”
Jarod Kintz, Love quotes for the ages. And the ageless sages.

Jarod Kintz
“Instead of cream, I like fog in my coffee. Makes me feel like I’m drinking the mystery that is love.
”
Jarod Kintz, I love Blue Ribbon Coffee

Emily Dickinson
“But it is growing damp and I must go in. Memory’s fog is rising.”
Emily Dickinson, Selected Letters
tags: fog, memory

Jarod Kintz
“She must have thought I was a magician the way I just disappeared out of her life. But I didn’t leave—the fog of love left me lost.
”
Jarod Kintz, Love quotes for the ages. And the ageless sages.

Mehmet Murat ildan
“Fog loves to cover; wind loves to disperse! Children of nature love having fun with each other!”
Mehmet Murat ildan
tags: fog

Mehmet Murat ildan
“Heavy fog is a weird guide! If you go on a journey with him, it takes you from nowhere and leaves you at nowhere!”
Mehmet Murat ildan
tags: fog

Mark Twain
“Jim said he believed it was spirits, but I says: no, spirits wouldn't say "dern the dern fog".”
Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Janet Fitch
“The view of the highway was so bad that you could not even see the next viaduct. Te moment it loomed out of the mist it disappeared again, as if the world created itself and was blotted out again.”
Janet Fitch, White Oleander

Jaimal Yogis
“As on many mornings in Marin, there is this sly strip of fog - water in it's most mystical incarnation - slithering over, around, and through the hills, making everything look ancient and unsolved.”
Jaimal Yogis, Saltwater Buddha: A Surfer's Quest to Find Zen on the Sea

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