17 Total Quotes

Rain Quotes

Clint Eastwood
If you think it's going to rain, it will.
Clint Eastwood
#Rain

How much rain? We aren't sure.
Brooke Bingaman
#Rain

There is some way to go yet before we are out of the woods. We need more rain.
Alan Seay
#Rain

Green Day
Never run in the rain with you're socks on
Green Day
#Rain

We need a slow, soaking rain or a series of slow, soaking rains.
Helen Humphreys
#Rain

If I were running the world I would have it rain only between 2 and 5 a.m. Anyone who was out then ought to get wet.
William Phelps
#Rain

William Shakespeare
For the rain it raineth every day.
William Shakespeare
#Rain

It's going to be tougher in the rain,
David Stewart
#Rain

It's going to be a soaking rain. It's going to be a widespread rain.
Brian Lovejoy
#Rain

Billie Armstrong
Never run in the rain with your socks on.
Billie Armstrong
#Rain

Shelter in the Rain
Sylvia Rhone
#Rain

The rain still hasn't stopped.
Franz Ferdinand
#Rain

And we've only had rain twice.
Richard Cross
#Rain

You get rain here, it washes out,
Rick Williams
#Rain

Henry David Thoreau
To watch this crystal globe just sent from heaven to associate with me. While these clouds and this somber drizzling weather shut all in, we two draw nearer and know one another. The gathering in of the clouds with the last rush and dying breath of the wind, and then the regular dripping of twigs and leaves the country over, the impression of inward comfort and Sociableness, the drenched stubble and trees that drop beads on you as you pass, their dim outline seen through the rain on all sides drooping in sympathy with yourself. These are my undisputed territory. This is Nature's English comfort.
Henry David Thoreau
#Rain

John Betjeman
Golden haired and golden hearted I would ever have you be, As you were when last we parted Smiling slow and sad at me. Oh! the fighting down of passion! Oh! the century-seeming pain- Parting in this off-hand fashion In Dungarvan in the rain. Slanting eyes of blue, unweeping Stands my Swedish beauty where Gusts of Irish rain are sweeping Round the statue in the square; Corner boys against the walling Watch us furtively in vain, And the Angelus is calling Through Dungarvan in the rain. Gales along the Commeragh Mountains, Beating sleet on creaking signs, Iron gutters turned to fountains, And the windscreen laced with lines, And the evening getting later, And the ache - increased again, As the distance grows the greater From Dungarvan in the rain. There is no one now to wonder What eccentric sits in state While the beech trees rock and thunder Round his gate-lodge and his gate. Gone - the ornamental plaster, Gone - the overgrown demesne And the car goes fast, and faster, From Dungarvan in the rain. Had I kissed and drawn you to me Had you yielded warm for cold, What a power had pounded through me As I stroked your streaming gold! You were right to keep us parted: Bound and parted we remain, Aching, if unbroken hearted - Oh! Dungarvan in the rain!
John Betjeman
#Rain

Elizabeth Bishop
The rain has stopped. The waterfall will roar like that all night. I have come out to take a walk and feed. My body--foot, that is--is wet and cold and covered with sharp gravel. It is white, the size of a dinner plate. I have set myself a goal, a certain rock, but it may well be dawn before I get there. Although I move ghostlike and my floating edges barely graze the ground, I am heavy, heavy, heavy. My white muscles are already tired. I give the impression of mysterious ease, but it is only with the greatest effort of my will that I can rise above the smallest stones and sticks. And I must not let myself be dis- tracted by those rough spears of grass. Don't touch them. Draw back. Withdrawal is always best. The rain has stopped. The waterfall makes such a noise! (And what if I fall over it?) The mountains of black rock give off such clouds of steam! Shiny streamers are hanging down their sides. When this occurs, we have a saying that the Snail Gods have come down in haste. I could never descend such steep escarp- ments, much less dream of climbing them. That toad was too big, too, like me. His eyes beseeched my love. Our proportions horrify our neighbors. Rest a minute; relax. Flattened to the ground, my body is like a pallid, decomposing leaf. What's that tapping on my shell? Nothing. Let's go on. My sides move in rhythmic waves, just off the ground, from front to back, the wake of a ship, wax-white water, or a slowly melting floe. I am cold, cold, cold as ice. My blind, white bull's head was a Cretan scare-head; degenerate, my four horns that can't attack. The sides of my mouth are now my hands. They press the earth and suck it hard. Ah, but I know my shell is beautiful, and high, and glazed, and shining. I know it well, although I have not seen it. Its curled white lip is of the finest enamel. Inside, it is as smooth as silk, and I, I fill it to perfection. My wide wake shines, now it is growing dark. I leave a lovely opalescent ribbon: I know this. But O! I am too big. I feel it. Pity me. If and when I reach the rock, I shall go into a certain crack there for the night. The waterfall below will vibrate through my shell and body all night long. In that steady pulsing I can rest. All night I shall be like a sleeping ear.
Elizabeth Bishop
#Rain