An orgy looks particularly alluring seen through the mists of righteous indignation.
Home is behind, the world ahead, And there are many paths to tread Through shadows to the edge of night, Until the stars are all alight. Then world behind and home ahead, We'll wander back and home to bed. Mist and twilight, cloud and shade, Away shall fade! Away shall fade!
Once upon a time, an angel lay dying in the mist. And a devil knelt over him and smiled.
The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.
remember you must live. remember you most love. remainder you mist leaf.
And we are not mountaintop sages who can live by consuming mist.
When I'm writing it's as if I'm the observer. It's as if that computer screen there -it used to be the typewriter - just kind of dissolves and there's this whirling tunnel of mist and there's a kind of proscenium arch, and then there are my characters, and they say what they say, and I laugh sometimes in surprise at what they say.
You cannot depict love inside a frame of fact. It needs a mist to dissolve in.
When the last deer disappears into the morning mist, When the last elk vanishes from the hills, When the last buffalo falls on the plains, I will hunt mice for I am a hunter and I must have my freedom.
For about 150 days a year in Venice, the sun doesn't show through the mist until noon.
Take your materials from what is around you - if you see a dandelion, write about that; if it's misty, write about the mist. The materials for poetry are all about you in profusion.
His words are nothing more than mist and sunshine, impossible to hold down.
I've come to believe that God, in His wisdom, allows martyrdom in every generation in part because, without them, the reality of Christ's death for us becomes increasingly blurry. . . As we look at [the martyrs], the mist that sometimes enshrouds first-century Golgotha is burned away, and we see. . . the Lord nailed to the cross.
The harvested fields bathed in the autumn mist speak of God and his goodness far more vividly than any human lips.
In my state of spiritual abstraction, I no longer belong to myself and to my eyesight. I am nothing more than a single narrow gasping lung, floating over the mists and summits.
The task of youth is not only its own salvation but the salvation of those against whom it rebels, but in that case there must be something vital to rebel against and if the elderly stiffly refuse to put up a vigorous front of their own, it leaves the entire situation in a mist.
While we may open the books of the past, we may but grant flying glances of the future, through the mist that veils it.
Prayer clears the mist and brings back peace to the Soul. . .
They dared not peer down into their own natures, down into the feverish confusion that filled their minds with a kind of dense, acrid mist.
Than smoke and mist who better could appraise The kindred spirit of an inner haze?