Fog Quotes

Quotes tagged as "fog" Showing 1-30 of 88
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

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

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

Sanober  Khan
“moonlight disappears down the hills
mountains vanish into fog
and i vanish into poetry.”
Sanober Khan, A Thousand Flamingos

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]

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

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

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

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

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

Denis Mackail
“Caught in the doldrums of August we may have regretted the departing summer, having sighed over the vanished strawberries and all that they signified. Now, however, we look forward almost eagerly to winter's approach. We forget the fogs, the slush, the sore throats an the price of coal, we think only of long evenings by lamplight, of the books which we are really going to read this time, of the bright shop windows and the keen edge of the early frosts.”
Denis Mackail, Greenery Street

Ken Kesey
“Nobody complains about all the fog. I know why, now: as bad as it is, you can slip back in it and feel safe. That’s what McMurphy can’t understand, us wanting to be safe. He keeps trying to drag us out of the fog, out in the open where we’d be easy to get at.”
Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Charles Dickens
“Foggier yet, and colder! Piercing, searching, biting cold.”
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
tags: cold, fog

Michael Dibdin
“He liked the fog, the world quietened down and closed in. Glossy turned to matt, every stridency was muted, substance leached out of the brute matter all around. Things became notions, the brash present a vague memory.

By some parallel process of slippage, his innumerable childhood memories of foggy days morphed into other memories. The fog of illness, real or feigned, of fevers and flu and febrility.”
Michael Dibdin, Medusa

“Fog clouds my judgement as if I were a morning landscape covered in cloud.”
Anthony T. Hincks

Mehmet Murat ildan
“When fog and walk come together, you get the opportunity to meet the nothingness! And such a meeting immediately increases your desire to meet the existence! Darkness makes you love the light and nothingness, the existence!”
Mehmet Murat ildan

Elin Hilderbrand
“June and July are foggy months. In the early summer on Nantucket, warm moist air flows over the colder water. The moist air cools to its dew point and a cloud forms at the water's surface. This is fog.”
Elin Hilderbrand, The Perfect Couple

Michael Dibdin
“An oily fog had mystified the streets, sheathing the façades to either side, estranging familiar landmarks and coating the windows with a skein of liquid seemingly denser than water.”
Michael Dibdin, Medusa
tags: city, fog

Sabrina Flynn
“A sharp breeze cut through the fog, stirring the veil, slicing through wool and cutting to the bone.”
Sabrina Flynn, From the Ashes

Donna Goddard
“THE MIST
They fell asleep and dreamed a fog.
They had words but not meaning.
And with the mist, there came a fear.
The mist grew thicker.
A whispered voice from the Great Beyond.
Love will heal the people.
It washed away the scent of shame.
No one said, “It should not be so.”
There was silence.
What is it? A strange feeling.
Foreign at first but now familiar.
We do not have to hide.
The crystal light extends out.
Pulsing with aliveness.
The memory of pain passes.
What were we so afraid of?”
Donna Goddard, Love's Longing

Ken Kesey
“There’s long spells — three days, years — when you can’t see a thing, know where you are only by the speaker sounding overhead like a bell buoy clanging in the fog. When I can see, the guys are usually moving around as unconcerned as though they didn’t notice so much as a mist in the air. I believe the fog affects their memory some way it doesn’t affect mine.”
Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Mehmet Murat ildan
“Do not criticize those who leave the Sun and run towards the fogs! May be they just need to disappear to get rid of the burdens of life!”
Mehmet Murat ildan

Ken Kesey
“It’s like… that big red hand of McMurphy’s is reaching into the fog and dropping down and dragging the men up by their hands, dragging them blinking into the open. First one, then another, then the next. Right on down the line of Acutes, dragging them out of the fog till there they stand, all twenty of them, raising not just for watching TV, but against the Big Nurse, against her trying to send McMurphy to Disturbed, against the way she’s talked and acted and beat them down for years.”
Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Mehmet Murat ildan
“Fog is not mysterious, fog is the mystery itself!”
Mehmet Murat ildan

Théun Mares
“In order to erase his personal history the warrior must create around himself a fog in which nothing about him seems tangible. Only tangible people have personal history.”
Théun Mares, Cry of the Eagle: The Toltec Teachings Volume 2

Danika Stone
“An hour after they’d left the clearing, a heavy layer of fog filled the valley like a moist blanket. The trees grew into amorphous shapes, mountains gone.
Ash stopped dead in his tracks. He stared into the forest with wide eyes. “Whoa! D’you see that?!”
Vale jerked to a stop. “What? Where?!”
“There in the trees.” He pointed into the forest to where the rainy undergrowth grew thick with a hazy veil of grey-white mist. “The haze.”
“What about it?”
“Looks like game lag. But like… real lag. Real life lag.” Ash grinned at her, his brown eyes sparkling. “Like the forest is supposed to be there, but it’s not totally loaded by the computer yet.”
“That’s going to be trouble.”
“Why?”
Vale nodded to where Ash knew the mountaintops should be, but were no longer visible, caught in an otherworldly lag. “It means we can’t see the mountains.”
“So?”
“So we can’t see where we are going anymore.”
Ash frowned. “Er… yeah.”
“C’mon. Let’s keep walking.”
Danika Stone, Switchback

Danika Stone
“While they rested, he searched for landmarks. The mountains they’d walked into were gone, a hazy gray ceiling of storm clouds in their place. It gave him the unsettling feeling of being caught inside a box. Ash turned and looked back the other direction. His attention caught on the forked top of a pine tree and he frowned. What the hell…? That looks like the same tree we passed fifteen minutes ago. It felt for a moment like he was in a poorly designed game and had just come across a repeating landscape. His gaze dropped down to the path where they’d just passed. His stomach churned uneasily. The trail was a faded smudge, the line of it almost too faint to follow in the gathering darkness, but there was a small outcrop of rocks in the trees that also looked familiar.
His attention jumped back to the pronged top of the branches. “What the…?”
Danika Stone, Switchback

“Beneath the foggy sky the glowing sea is hazy, the soft light of a scarf over a lamp.”
Melissa Barbeau, The Luminous Sea

Mehmet Murat ildan
“The fog is a chest, a magical chest! What wonders are hidden in it, the only way to see them is to dive into the fog!”
Mehmet Murat ildan

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