She was cut off fromthe past and therefore did not live in the present. But suddenly, as she stood close against a pine tree and breathed in its sharp, bitter scent, a clear space opened to her childhood, as though a wind had sprung fromthesea, clearing a mist.It wasnot a memory from the past, it was the past itself, as alive, as real; and she knew that she and the child of forty years ago were the same person.D(onald) M(itchell) Thomas: 1981TheWhite Hotel, ch.4.
You stars that reigned at my nativity, Whose influence hath allotted death and hell, Now draw up Faustus like a foggy mist, Into the entrails of yon labouring cloud, That when you vomit forth into the air, My limbs may issue from your smoky mouths, So that my soul may but ascend to heaven.Christopher Marlowe: c.1592 Doctor Faustus (published1604), act 5, sc.2.
Sob, heavy world, Sob as you spin Mantled in mist, remote from the happy.wystan hugh auden: 1944-6 The Age of Anxiety, pt.4,'The Dirge'.
But the majestic river floated on, Out of the mist and hum of that low land, Into the frosty starlight.Matthew Arnold: 1853 Poems: A New Edition,'Sohrab and Rustum', l.875-7.
Unless we change our ways and our direction, our greatness as a nation will soon be a footnote in the history books, a distant memory of an offshore island, lost in the mist of time like Camelot, remembered kindly for its noble past.Thatcher, Margaret HildaThatcher, Baroness: 1979 General election campaign speech, Bolton, 2 May.
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.John Edward Masefield: 1902 'Sea Fever'.
Theyare sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs 578 Grate on their scrannel Pipes of wretched straw, The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But swollen with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread, Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said, But that two-handed engine at the door, Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.john milton: 1637 Lycidas, l.122-31.
O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me What this strong music in the soul may be! What, and wherein it doth exist, This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, This beautiful and beauty-making power.Samuel Taylor Coleridge: 1802 'Dejection: An Ode', stanza 5.
The hardship of it was a pleasure. Life was a pleasure; he looked back at its moments, many of them as shrouded in mist as the opposite bank of the Thames. Objectively, many of them held only misery, fear, confusion; but afterward, and even at the time, he had known an exhilaration stronger than the misery, fear, or confusion. A fragment of belief came to him from another epoch: Cogito ergo sum. For him that had not been true; his truth had been: Sentio ergo sum. I feel, so I exist. He enjoyed this fearful, miserable, confused life, and not only because it made more sense than nonlife. He could never explain that to anyone.brian aldiss: Chapter 3 “The River: Swifford Fair” (p. 75)
With trembling hands, I made a tiny breach in the upper left hand corner... widening the hole a little, I inserted the candle and peered in... at first I could see nothing, the hot air escaping from the chamber causing the candle to flicker. Presently, details of the room emerged slowly from the mist, strange animals, statues and gold – everywhere the glint of gold. For the moment – an eternity it must have seemed to the others standing by – I was struck dumb with amazement, and when Lord Carnarvon, unable to stand in suspense any longer, inquired anxiously "Can you see anything?", it was all I could do to get out the words "Yes, wonderful things".howard carter: Tutankhamen and the Glint of Gold
Autobiography is never entirely true. No one can get the right perspective on himself. Every fact is colored by imagination and dream. The young look forth across the sea to a mirage of fairylands filled with hidden treasures; the aged turn to the fading past, and through the mist and haze that veils once familiar scenes, bygone events assume weird and fanciful proportions.clarence darrow: Ch. 1 "Before The Beginning"
Every night, at exactly a quarter past three, something dreadful happens on the street outside our bedroom window. We peek through the curtains, yawning and shivering in the life-draining chill, and then we clamber back beneath the blankets without exchanging a word, to hug each other tightly and hope for sound sleep before it's time to rise.Usually what we witness verges on the mundane. Drunken young men fighting, swaying about with outstretched knives, cursing incoherently. Robbery, bashings, rape. We wince to see such violence, but we can hardly be shocked or surprised any more, and we're never tempted to intervene: it's always far too cold, for a start! A single warm exhalation can coat the window pane with mist, transforming the most stomach-wrenching assault into a safely cryptic ballet for abstract blobs of light.On some nights, though, when the shadows in the room are subtly wrong, when the familiar street looks like an abandoned film set, or a painting of itself perversely come to life, we are confronted by truly disturbing sights, oppressive apparitions which almost make us doubt we're awake, or, if awake, sane. I can't catalogue these visions, for most, mercifully, are blurred by morning, leaving only a vague uneasiness and a reluctance to be alone even in the brightest sunshine.greg egan: Scatter My Ashes, published in Interzone (Spring 1988)
Maybe the heart is part of the mist. And that's all that there is or could ever exist. Maybe and maybe and maybe some more. Maybe's the exit that I'm looking for.Paul Simon, Surprise (2006), I Don't Believe
On, on we went, till at last the east began to blush like the cheek of a girl. Then there came faint rays of primrose light, that changed presently to golden bars, through which the dawn glided out across the desert. The stars grew pale and paler still, till at last they vanished; the golden moon waxed wan, and her mountain ridges stood out against her sickly face like the bones on the cheek of a dying man. Then came spear upon spear of light flashing far away across the boundless wilderness, piercing and firing the veils of mist, till the desert was draped in a tremulous golden glow, and it was day.h. rider haggard: Chapter 5, "Our March into the Desert"
The objects that we have known in better days are the main props that sustain the weight of our affections, and give us strength to await our future lot. The future is like a dead wall or a thick mist hiding all objects from our view; the past is alive and stirring with objects, bright or solemn, and of unfading interest.william hazlitt: "On the Past and Future"
The hills of manhood wear a noble faceWhen seen from far;The mist of light from which they take their graceHides what they are.houghton, richard monckton milnes, 1st baron hough: Carpe Diem.
God was very much disappointed, and wanted first to contract the universe again, and to start all over from the beginning. But it would be much too simple. Thus being almighty, God decided to correct His mistake in a mist impossible way.And God said: "Let there be Hoyle." And there was Hoyle. And God looked at Hoyle ... and told him to make heavy elements in any way he pleased. And Hoyle decided to make heavy elements in stars, and to spread them around by supernovae explosions.fred hoyle: George Gamow, My World Line: An Informal Autobiography (1970, posthumous), "New Genesis", p. 127 [ellipsis in original]
And the South Wind he was dressed With a ribbon round his breast That floated, flapped, and fluttered In a riotous unrest And a drapery of mist From the shoulder to the wrist Floating backward with the motion Of the waving hand he kissed.James Whitcomb Riley, The South Wind and the Sun.
Though our hearts be sad, and tearful Be our eyes in coming years. Memory will see bright rainbows On the cloud mist of our tears .James Laughlin Hughes, in Rainbows on War Clouds (1919), p. 9
Walk on a rainbow trail; walk on a trail of song , and all about you will be beauty . There is a way out of every dark mist, over a rainbow trail.Anonymous, a traditional Navajo song, as quoted in All Men Seek God : The Quest for Faith in the Words of Great Leaders and Thinkers (1968) by Dean Walley
Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle, Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child, leaving his bed, wander’d alone, bare-headed, barefoot, Down from the shower’d halo, Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if they were alive, Out from the patches of briers and blackberries, From the memories of the bird that chanted to me, From your memories, sad brother from the fitful risings and fallings I heard, From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears, From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the transparent mist, From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease, From the myriad thence-arous’d words, From the word stronger and more delicious than any, From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting, As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing, Borne hither ere all eludes me, hurriedly, A man yet by these tears a little boy again, Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves, I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter, Taking all hints to use them but swiftly leaping beyond them, A reminiscence sing.Walt Whitman, Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking, from Leaves of Grass, 1860 edition.
On a late-winter evening in 1983, while driving through fog along the Maine coast, recollections of old campfires began to drift into the March mist, and I thought of the Abnaki Indians of the Algonquin tribe who dwelt near Bangor a thousand years ago.norman mailer: Harry Hubbard, in Harlot's Ghost : A Novel (1991)
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.john masefield: The first line is often misquoted as "I must go down to the seas again." and this is the wording used in the song setting by John Ireland.
Go by reverently, and read with sober careHow a great people, riding with defiant shoutsThe centaur of Revolution,Spurred and whipped to frenzy,Shook with terror, seeing the mist of the seaOver the precipice they were nearing,And fell from his back in precipitate aweTo celebrate the Feast of the Supreme Being.Edgar Lee Masters: "Captain Orlando Killion'
Memory, out of the mist, in a long slow rippleBreaks, blindly, against the shore.Alfred Noyes: "Seagulls on the Serpentine".