Foggy Quotes

#1. Enraged
I throw myself to the ground and I scream,
my best friend is gone, this world is so mean.
I cry as I pound my fists on his grass,
I'm very upset that our time went so fast.
My heart beats faster than ever before,
my tears unstoppable, I'm hurt to the core.
There are no words people can say,
that will ease my excruciating pain.
I don't understand why you had to go.
You leaving me, we just didn't know.
I'll make it somehow, I'll start anew.
But, there is no way I can replace you.
I struggle to make it through each day,
and retain my sanity in this foggy haze.
The sadness and pain that I display,
is because God decided to take you away. #Quote by Michele Lena Lucy

#2. This was the problem with a walk down memory lane. It was almost always foggy, and one was likely to trip and fall. #Quote by Viet Thanh Nguyen

#3. You're not perfect. Sometimes, you can be a real jerk. Not on purpose. Just sometimes. But no matter what, you are a man of integrity. That is your defining characteristic. You can't see this, but it comes off you so strong that I have watched Avengers be intimidated by it. Be inspired by it. Your integrity carries a weight you can't imagine. It has meaning. #Quote by Mark Waid

#4. It is well if the good man himself does not feel his devotions a little clouded, those foggy sensuous steams mingling with and polluting the pure altar surface. #Quote by Charles Lamb

#5. The path to [exaltation] is rugged and steep. Many stumble and fall, and through discouragement never pick themselves up to start again. The forces of evil cloud the path with many foggy deterrents, often trying to detour us in misleading trails. But through all this journey there is the calming assurance that if we choose the
right, success will be ours, and the achievement of it will have molded and formed and created us into the kind of person qualified to be accepted into the presence of God. #Quote by Harold B. Lee

#6. 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! #Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

#7. They walked in silence through the little streets of Chinatown. Women from all over the world smiled at them from open windows, stood on the doorsteps inviting them in. Some of the rooms were exposed to the street. Only a curtain concealed the beds. One could see couples embracing. There were Syrian women wearing their native costume, Arabian women with jewelry covering their half-naked bodies, Japanese and Chinese women beckoning slyly, big African women squatting in circles, chatting together. One house was filled with French whores wearing short pink chemises and knitting and sewing as if they were at home. They always hailed the passers-by with promises of specialities. The houses were small, dimly lit, dusty, foggy with smoke, filled with dusky voices, the murmurs of drunkards, of lovemaking. The Chinese adorned the setting and made it more confused with screens and curtains, lanterns, burning incense, Buddhas of gold. It was a maze of jewels, paper flowers, silk hangings, and rugs, with women as varied as the designs and colors, inviting men who passed by to sleep with them. #Quote by Anais Nin

#8. Our culture constantly inundates us with new information, and yet our brains capture so little of it. I can spend half a dozen hours reading a book and then have only a foggy notion of what it was about. #Quote by Joshua Foer

#9. Finally, I had held up examples of Goldhagen's inflammatory language and suggested that he had missed the essence of what Primo Levi once called the 'grey zone' of human affairs, described by the historian Christopher Browning as that foggy universe of mixed motives, conflicting emotions, personal priorities, reluctant choices, opportunism and accomodation, all wedded, when convenient, to self-deception and denial. I thought that by marshalling his research into an overly narrow narrative, painted without nuance in black and white, the author had missed the human complexity and the ordinariness of racism. #Quote by Erna Paris

#10. Every other sect supposes itself in possession of the truth, and that those who differ are so far in the wrong. Like a man traveling in foggy weather they see those at a distance before them wrapped up in a fog, as well as those behind them, and also people in the fields on each side; but near them, all appears clear, though in truth they are as much in the fog as any of them. #Quote by Benjamin Franklin

#11. She spent the foggy day in endless, aimless walking, for it seemed to her that if she moved quickly enough she would escape the fear that hunted her. It was a vague and shadowy fear of something cruel and stupid that had caught her and would never let her go. She had always known that it was there - hidden under the more of less pleasant surface of things. Always. Ever since she was a child.
You could argue about hunger or cold or loneliness, but with that fear you couldn't argue. It went too deep. You were too mysteriously sure of its terror. You could only walk very fast and try to leave it behind you. #Quote by Jean Rhys

#12. When a foggy mind enters the fog, it doesn't understand that it enters the fog! #Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

#13. One evening he appeared with an infant in his arms at the door of his ex-wife, Martha. Because Briony, his lovely young wife after Martha, had died. Of what? We'll get to that. I can't do this alone, Andrew said, as Martha stared at him from the open doorway. It happened to have been snowing that night, and Martha was transfixed by the soft creature-like snowflakes alighting on Andrew's NY Yankees hat brim. Martha was like that, enrapt by the peripheral things as if setting them to music. Even in ordinary times, she was slow to respond, looking at you with her large dark rolling protuberant eyes. Then the smile would come, or the nod, or the shake of the head. Meanwhile the heat from her home drifted through the open door and fogged up Andrew's eyeglasses. He stood there behind his foggy lenses like a blind man in the snowfall and was without volition when at last she reached out, gently took the swaddled infant from him, stepped back, and closed the door in his face. #Quote by E.L. Doctorow

#14. In my light-headedness and fatigue, which made me feel drastically cut off from myself and as if I were observing it all at a remove, I walked past candy shops and coffee shops and shops with antique toys and Delft tiles from the 1800s, old mirrors and silver glinting in the rich, cognac-colored light, inlaid French cabinets and tables in the French court style with garlanded carvings and veneerwork that would have made Hobie gasp with admiration - in fact the entire foggy, friendly, cultivated city with its florists and bakeries and antiekhandels reminded me of Hobie, not just for its antique-crowded richness but because there was a Hobie-like wholesomeness to the place, like a children's picture book where aproned tradespeople swept the floors and tabby cats napped in sunny windows. But there was much too much to see, and #Quote by Donna Tartt

#15. 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. #Quote by Elin Hilderbrand

#16. I was born to find goblins in their caves / And chase moonlight / To see shadows and seek hidden rivers / To hear the rain fall on dry leaves / And chat a bit with death across foggy nights. #Quote by James Kavanaugh

#17. You know what to do?"
"Wander around," I said. "Until I spot a self-assembled whangdoodle from the Foggy depths. #Quote by Joel N. Ross

#18. Have I not reason, beldams as you are,
Saucy and overbold? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth
In riddles and affairs of death;
And I, the mistress of your charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art?
And, which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward son,
Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now: get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i' the morning: thither he
Will come to know his destiny:
Your vessels and your spells provide,
Your charms and every thing beside.
I am for the air; this night I'll spend
Unto a dismal and a fatal end:
Great business must be wrought ere noon:
Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop profound;
I'll catch it ere it come to ground:
And that distill'd by magic sleights
Shall raise such artificial sprites
As by the strength of their illusion
Shall draw him on to his confusion:
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear:
And you all know, security
Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
Music and a song within: 'Come away, come away,' & c
Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see,
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. #Quote by William Shakespeare

#19. Without mathematics, your world becomes foggy! For a clear vision, you need to be educated in the Temple of Mathematics! #Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

#20. We need clear days to see the horizons; we need foggy nights to see beyond the horizons! Man sometimes can think much deeper when he sees less! #Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

#21. I was living my own future and my brother's lost one as well. I represented him here just as he represented me there, in some unguessable other place. His move from life to death might resemble my stepping into the kitchen - into its soft nowhere quality and foggy hum. I breathed the dark air. If I had at that moment a sense of calm kindly death while my heart beat and my lungs expanded, he might know a similar sense of life in the middle of his ongoing death. #Quote by Michael Cunningham

#22. An investigator starts research in a new field with faith, a foggy idea, and a few wild experiments. Eventually the interplay of negative and positive results guides the work. By the time the research is completed, he or she knows how it should have been started and conducted. #Quote by Donald Cram

#23. We have no middle ground, no foggy gray area where we can sin a little without suffering spiritual decline. That is why we must repent and come to Christ daily on submissive knees so that we can prevent our bonfires of testimony from being snuffed out by sin. #Quote by Joseph B. Wirthlin

#24. Twenty minutes 'til 9, we're getting in the truck. I'm sweaty,
stinky and covered in red mud. I'm not sure what Logan smells
like and I don't plan on getting close enough to find out.
"What do you wanna be when you grow up?" he asks, as we
ride along the quiet, foggy, gravel road in the dark.
"Alive," I say, thoughtlessly.
"I like that. Aim low," he retorts. #Quote by Elizabeth Nicole

#25. Joint pain, bloating and foggy thoughts are not imagined symptoms, They're the result of improper diet. Make eliminations. Start with wheat, then dairy, then sugar. These are the most inflammatory foods. #Quote by Nancy S. Mure

#26. I'd given up trying to explain Hobie to Boris: the house, the workshop, his thoughtful way of listening (...) but more than anything a sort of pleasing atmosphere of mind: foggy, autumnal, a mild and welcoming micro-climate that made me feel safe and comfortable in his company. #Quote by Donna Tartt

#27. When it's foggy in the pulpit it's cloudy in the pew. #Quote by Cavett Robert

#28. Finding oneself and one's path is like waking up on a foggy day. Be patient, and presently the fog will clear and that which has always been there can be seen. The path is already there to follow #Quote by Rasheed Ogunlaru

#29. Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow. #Quote by Bob Dylan

#30. Marthe Away (She Is Away)"

All night I lay awake beside you,
Leaning on my elbow, watching your
Sleeping face, that face whose purity
Never ceases to astonish me.
I could not sleep. But I did not want
Sleep nor miss it. Against my body,
Your body lay like a warm soft star.
How many nights I have waked and watched
You, in how many places. Who knows?
This night might be the last one of all.
As on so many nights, once more I
Drank from your sleeping flesh the deep still
Communion I am not always strong
Enough to take from you waking, the peace of love.
Foggy lights moved over the ceiling
Of our room, so like the rooms of France
And Italy, rooms of honeymoon,
And gave your face an ever changing
Speech, the secret communication
Of untellable love. I knew then,
As your secret spoke, my secret self,
The blind bird, hardly visible in
An endless web of lies. And I knew
The web too, its every knot and strand,
The hidden crippled bird, the terrible web.
Towards the end of the night, as trucks rumbled
In the streets, you stirred, cuddled to me,
And spoke my name. Your voice was the voice
Of a girl who had never known loss
Of love, betrayal, mistrust, or lie.
And later you turned again and clutched
My hand and pressed it to your body.
Now I know surely and forever,
However much I have blotted our
Waking love, i #Quote by Kenneth Rexroth

#31. When he backed away, his pupils were huge and unfocused. He blinked, and then he cleared his throat. "Belly," he said, and his voice was foggy. He didn't say anything else, just my name.
"Do you still
" Care. Think about me. Want me.
Roughly, he said, "Yes. Yes, I still."
And then we were kissing again. #Quote by Jenny Han

#32. I was nineteen at the time, prowling the streets and alleys with my usual supply of hot dogs, the street lights with their foggy haloes showing dark, formless shapes moving out from the darkness of the fog and disappearing again. #Quote by Fynn

#33. Gaslight Goods. Let us be your light in the midst of life's darkness, the sunlight in your foggy day, the candle in your wind. This is Kite. How can I help you today?
I grimaced. That was their opener? #Quote by Chloe Neill

#34. I remember I would not stand still; I would not stop being perplexed by everything that spontaneously attracted me or caught my attention. I would never cease to look around me and observe myself in relation to nature: either crystal clear skies and sun-melting afternoons, or foggy winter days and weirdly tinted nights. I would never cease to dream and stand by the window, ready to let the diversity of life pass freely through my skin; courageous enough to believe I stood a chance in devouring each shade of sensation. Or perhaps, immensely foolish to plainly - believe at all. #Quote by Virginia Woolf

#35. A city of squalls, foggy mornings, intervals of blue and white so immaculate the eyes ached. A city of readers, coffee drinkers, kissers on sidewalks, sad faces at wet windows. A city of umbrellas, woolen scarves, raincoats, cigarettes, wineglasses, cognac. #Quote by Keith Miller

#36. So you put me through all this suffering just to taunt me?'

'Humans suffer because they take seriously that which we create for entertainment.'

'Oh really? Because let me tell you, I wasn't the least bit entertained!'

'That's because you were not being entertained, Mr Fantoccio, you were being enlightened,' stated the Mistress through a pair of foggy eyes. 'You want to know why painting never worked for you? Because painters are creators and you, Mr Fantoccio, are an overseer. You don't care about setting up the puppet show; you are merely interested in giving it a good ending. For you, Mr Fantoccio, creating the world was never enough; you aspire to run it. With every breath, you want to shape it. With every choice, you need to control it. #Quote by Louise Blackwick

#37. I thought your boyfriend died?" Nicky asked, and it was actually a good question, and I was so
mad that I wasn't even embarrassed to answer him.
"We were three," I choked out. "I had a night lover and a day lover," I said, and it felt like
poetry, just to say it there in public in the middle of the quad, under the foggy sun. "And they loved
each other like night loves the day. And then the night lover died, and the day lover and I were naked in
the sunshine, with only ourselves for cover. #Quote by Amy Lane

#38. Failures however, are the stuff of scrutiny. And so we often erect memorials over our failures while our successes drift into the foggy backwaters of our mind. #Quote by Craig D. Lounsbrough

#39. And in that foggy place between sleep and waking, he could have been anyone. That was what she liked most about him: In the darkness, he became whomever she wanted. #Quote by Aryn Kyle

#40. Foggy road is a blessing because it is full of surprises and life is such a road! We are incredibly lucky that we all have an unknowable future! #Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

#41. Do you remember the unbidden summer rain
Washing the dew from mulberries away?

Can you forget the scent of honey over fields,
And those amber-colored acorns beads…

And crowds of singing motley birds
Around the foggy, misty lake?

That's where our childhood mirth
Will be remained as a fairy-tale… #Quote by Sahara Sanders

#42. Every life, every story, has peaks and valleys. You are walking through a low spot now. Perhaps it's foggy in the valley. And maybe you can't see the path anymore. But it's there. Keep walking on it. You'll find your way. And when you come through the thicket, with little rabbits hopping about, there will be a clearing, and the sun will be shining down on you with rays that will warm you and inspire you again. #Quote by Sarah Jio

#43. A few times I invited Ba to visit me from the World of Yin. But other yin friends tell me he is stuck somewhere else, a foggy place where people believe their lies are true. #Quote by Amy Tan

#44. I want to tell you a story. I'm going to ask you all to close your eyes while I tell you the story. I want you to listen to me. I want you to listen to yourselves. Go ahead. Close your eyes, please. This is a story about a little girl walking home from the grocery store one sunny afternoon. I want you to picture this little girl. Suddenly a truck races up. Two men jump out and grab her. They drag her into a nearby field and they tie her up and they rip her clothes from her body. Now they climb on. First one, then the other, raping her, shattering everything innocent and pure with a vicious thrust in a fog of drunken breath and sweat. And when they're done, after they've killed her tiny womb, murdered any chance for her to have children, to have life beyond her own, they decide to use her for target practice. They start throwing full beer cans at her. They throw them so hard that it tears the flesh all the way to her bones. Then they urinate on her. Now comes the hanging. They have a rope. They tie a noose. Imagine the noose going tight around her neck and with a sudden blinding jerk she's pulled into the air and her feet and legs go kicking. They don't find the ground. The hanging branch isn't strong enough. It snaps and she falls back to the earth. So they pick her up, throw her in the back of the truck and drive out to Foggy Creek Bridge. Pitch her over the edge. And she drops some thirty feet down to the creek bottom below. Can you see her? Her raped, beaten, broken body s #Quote by John Grisham

#45. The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.
Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.
But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that'd still be keeping his feet dry in ten years' time, while the poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.
This was the Captain Samuel Vimes 'Boots' theory of socioeconomic unfairness. #Quote by Terry Pratchett

#46. Unusual weather for New York City. Today it was 68 and foggy. No, wait a minute, that's me. I'm sorry, that's me. #Quote by David Letterman

#47. Unlike most biographers it is here I leave Messrs. Burke and Hare, at the peak of their glory. Why destroy such an artistic effect by requiring them to languish along to the end of their lives, revealing their defects and their deceptions? We need only remember them, mask in hand, walking abroad on foggy nights. For their end was sordid like so many others. One of them, it appears, was hanged and Dr. Knox was forced to quit Edinburgh. Mr. Burke left no other works. #Quote by Marcel Schwob

#48. The manager turned up his palms. "I don't have those answers, Samirah, but Huginn and Muninn will brief you privately. Go with them to the high places of Valhalla. Let them show you thoughts and memories."
To me, that sounded like some trippy vision quest with Darth Vader appearing in a foggy cave. #Quote by Rick Riordan

#49. There's a certain deeper sort of beauty in the bleak. I see it that bleak is beautiful in part because it is too deathly and grim to fathom itself so. #Quote by Criss Jami

#50. So many questions crowd my brain at once, it's like one of the famous Portland fogs has swept up from the ocean and settled there, making it impossible to think normal, functional thoughts. We're sitting on the floor of the living room, which is squashed up right next to the "dining room", and I'm holding Jenny's workbook on my knees, reciting the problems to her, but my mind is on autopilot and my thoughts are a million miles away. Or rather, they're exactly 3.4 miles away, down at the marshy edge of Back Cove. #Quote by Lauren Oliver

#51. If you want to see what my Earthsea looks like, you could sail past the Scilly Isles (handy for you Brits); or you could go to a little bay called Trinidad on the far north coast of California on a foggy morning (not so handy for you Brits). But these are both places I saw long after I had mapped and travelled in the Archipelago. It was pleasant to be able to say - ah! yes! that looks just like the West Reach! #Quote by Ursula K. Le Guin

#52. To find a new world, maybe you have to have lost one. Maybe you have to be lost. The dance of renewal, the dance that made world, was always danced here at the edge of things, on the brink, on the foggy coast. #Quote by Ursula K. Le Guin

#53. In the midst of a foggy field, the answers are hidden But the impossible journey deems them forbidden. The Reaper of Death, the Angel of Life. They walk together in day and night. #Quote by Jessica Sorensen

#54. I don't eat & drink good clean food because I want my body to look more like Taylor Swift's. Actually, I am among a rare breed of humans that knows my worth is not determined by the size of my ass. That said, I eat and drink clean food because I love myself. Besides, when I eat shitty food, I feel like shit. Period. When I eat refined sugar and a bunch of processed foods, my mind gets all foggy and my body feels lethargic.
No thanks! I mean, how am I supposed to change the world for the better feeling like that? #Quote by Brooke Hampton

#55. We'd walk home together in the foggy summer night and I'd tell her about sex; the good stuff, like how it could be warm and exciting
it took you away
and the not-so-good things, like how once you showed someone that part of yourself, you had to trust them one thousand percent and anything could happen. Someone you thought you knew could change and suddenly not want you, suddenly decide you made a better story than a girlfriend. Or how sometimes you might think you wanted to do it and then halfway through or afterward realize no, you just wanted the company, really; you wanted someone to choose you, and the sex part itself was like a trade-off, something you felt like you had to give to get the other part. I'd tell her that and help her decide. I'd be a friend. #Quote by Sara Zarr

#56. My wind is turned to bitter north, That was so soft a south before; My sky, that shone so sunny bright, With foggy gloom is clouded o'er My gay green leaves are yellow-black, Upon the dank autumnal floor; For love, departed once, comes back No more again, no more. #Quote by Arthur Hugh Clough

#57. 7Everything on earth, join in and praise the Eternal; sea monsters and creatures of the deep, 8Lightning and hail, snow and foggy mists, violent winds all respond to His command. #Quote by Anonymous

#58. Maybe this is pathetic, but I still dread producing a book that doesn't earn back its advance. I hate obligations that are financially foggy. #Quote by Helen Garner

#59. IT'S MORNING, TIME to get up, so get up, Arturo, and look for a job. Get out there and look for what you'll never find. You're a thief and you're a crab-killer and a lover of women in clothes closets. You'll never find a job!
Every morning I got up feeling like that. Now I've got to find a job, damn it to hell. I ate breakfast, put a book under my arm, pencils in my pocket, and started out. Down the stairs I went, down the street, sometimes hot and sometimes cold, sometimes foggy and sometimes clear. It never mattered, with a book under my arm, looking for a job.
What job, Arturo? Ho ho! A job for you? Think of what you are, my boy! A crab-killer. A thief. You look at naked women in clothes closets. And you expect to get a job! How funny! But there he goes, the idiot, with a big book. Where the devil are you going, Arturo? Why do you go up this street and not that? Why go east - why not go west? Answer me, you thief! Who'll give you a job, you swine - who? But there's a park across town, Arturo. It's called Banning Park. There are a lot of beautiful eucalyptus trees in it, and green lawns. What a place to read! Go there, Arturo. Read Nietzsche. Read Schopenhauer. Get into the company of the mighty. A job? fooey! Go sit under a eucalyptus tree reading a book looking for a job. #Quote by John Fante

#60. There is not the hundredth part of the wine consumed in this kingdom that there ought to be. Our foggy climate wants help. #Quote by Jane Austen

#61. Maybe they see something in him, see something in his face, in his features. Maybe they see what I see from this disjointed, foggy perspective. The desperation in his expression, the anguish carved into his features, the way he looks at me, like he might die if I do. And I can't help but think this is an interesting parting gift from the world. #Quote by Tahereh Mafi

#62. He retrieved the words from somewhere long forgotten. They floated through the foggy recesses of his mind, plucked from the dark and released into the air like a dove. #Quote by R.W. Patterson

#63. The inner life has its soft and gentle beauty; an abstract formlessness as well as a subtle charm. I often consider myself as a figure in a foggy painting: faltering lines, insecure distances, and a merging of greys and blacks. An emotion or a mood - a mere wisp of color - is shaded off and made to spread until it becomes one with all that surrounds it. #Quote by Virginia Woolf

#64. For suddenly, I saw you there And through foggy London town The sun was shining everywhere ... #Quote by George Gershwin

#65. Life is a foggy road. You may come across anything on the road. #Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

#66. Her house looked cold from the foggy lea,
And the square of each window a dull black blur
Where showed no stir:
Yes, her gloom within at the lack of me
Seemed matching mine at the lack of her.
The black squares grew to be squares of light
As the eyeshade swathed the house and lawn,
And viols gave tone;
There was glee within. And I found that night
The gloom of severance mine alone #Quote by Thomas Hardy

#67. So easy in the woods to daydream and
pray to the local spirits and say "Allow me to stay here, I only want peace" and
those foggy peaks answer back mutely Yes #Quote by Jack Kerouac

#68. The weather and my mood have little connection. I have my foggy and my fine days within me; my prosperity or misfortune has little to do with the matter. #Quote by Blaise Pascal

#69. Some might say the difference between being a kid and being a grown-up is that grown-ups don't think they can sail around the world all by themselves. Why not? Because they don't have a sailboat. Because they couldn't make the mortgage payments if they sailed around the world. Because they don't know how to sail. Because they don't want to. Because it's just a TV show. There can be a lot of becauses. There can be endless becauses. Because you're a grown-up. Because you have responsibilities. Because you haven't made one choice in the last ten years. Because (and here's the important one) you're a coward. Yes. That's right. Because you, my little friend, are a coward. When you're a kid, on the other hand, your entire thought process is consumed with visions of WHAT MIGHT BE. You are propelled forward in search of some foggy thing. Some thing that you believe might be amazing. What you might do. Who you might be. You imagine that there are so many possibilities. #Quote by Joe Blair

#70. ... "It was fun tonight. But you know what would be even more fun?" "What's that?" she asks. "Making out with you in my car when we get back to your place. You know, to see how foggy we can get the glass?" "That does sounds like fun. Count me in." By the time I walked her to her door, I couldn't see anything outside of my windows. #Quote by Sawyer Bennett

#71. Don't you like a rather foggy a in a wood in autumn? You'll find we shall be perfectly warm sitting in the car."
Jane said she'd never heard of anyone liking fogs before but she didn't mind trying. All three got in.
"That's why Camilla and I got married, "said Denniston as they drove off. "We both like Weather. Not this or that kind of weather, but just Weather. It's a useful taste if one lives in England."
"How ever did you learn to do that, Mr. Denniston?" said Jane. "I don't think I should ever learn to like rain and snow."
"It's the other way round," said Denniston. "Everyone begins as a child by liking Weather. You learn the art of disliking it as you grow up. Noticed it on a snowy day? The grown-ups are all going about with long faces, but look at the children - and the dogs? They know what snow's made for."
"I'm sure I hated wet days as a child," said Jane.
"That's because the grown-ups kept you in," said Camilla. "Any child loves rain if it's allowed to go out and paddle about in it. #Quote by C.S. Lewis

#72. Our mind is like a beach: Sometimes sunny, sometimes wavy, sometimes crowded, sometimes empty and lonely; at times stormy, at nights, cold and windy; in the mornings, very clear; at twilight, foggy! Our mind is like a beach, changing from one moment to another! #Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

#73. When the spirit shines, even foggy skies make pleasant light. #Quote by Abraham Isaac Kook

#74. Now, a month later, I sit, foggy, a similar state of mind, in a different seafood restaurant with a locals-know-every-secret bar, two happy hour martinis downed, fidgeting with my napkin below the lip of the table, and I barely hear Wendy ask me another question. She brought a bag of them tonight. #Quote by Justin Bog

#75. The door suddenly jerks open. A wide-eyed teenager bursts out. She stares at me in dazed horror. In a strange way, I both know and don't know what has just happened. As the fragments begin to converge, they convey a horrible reality: I must have been hit by this car as I entered the crosswalk. In confused disbelief, I sink back into a hazy twilight. I find that I am unable to think clearly or to will myself awake from this nightmare.

A man rushes to my side and drops to his knees. He announces himself as an off-duty paramedic. When I try to see where the voice is coming from, he sternly orders, "Don't move your head." The contradiction between his sharp command and what my body naturally wants - to turn toward his voice - frightens and stuns me into a sort of paralysis. My awareness strangely splits, and I experience an uncanny "dislocation." It's as if I'm floating above my body, looking down on the unfolding scene.

I am snapped back when he roughly grabs my wrist and takes my pulse. He then shifts his position, directly above me. Awkwardly, he grasps my head with both of his hands, trapping it and keeping it from moving. His abrupt actions and the stinging ring of his command panic me; they immobilize me further. Dread seeps into my dazed, foggy consciousness: Maybe I have a broken neck, I think. I have a compelling impulse to find someone else to focus on. Simply, I need to have someone's comforting gaze, a lifeline to hold onto. But I'm too terrified #Quote by Peter A. Levine

#76. What the Londoner sees in his mind's eye is that cluster of towers and pinnacles seen from Pentonville Hill and outlined against a foggy sunset, and the great arc of Barlow's train shed gaping to devour incoming engines, and the sudden burst of exuberant Gothic of the hotel seen from gloomy Judd Street ... #Quote by John Betjeman

#77. Maybe we need a very small nuke thrown off on Foggy Bottom to shake things up #Quote by Pat Robertson

#78. You may claim to love Jesus but your life proves you are still walking in darkness - confused, befuddled and foggy! When you are truly in love with Jesus, conversing with Him, He turns up the light. There is no darkness at all in His presence. The worst possible darkness to mankind is not in the hearts of God-hating Communist leaders or Christ-hating atheists. It is, rather, the horrible darkness that blinds so-called Christians who refuse to walk in the light. #Quote by David Wilkerson

#79. When the weather is bright everyone can see everything in the Valley of Life; the talent is to see the unseen when The Valley is foggy! #Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

#80. Cold. Foggy cold. Soaking through fabric, biting into the skin, clutching the bones until flesh crawled.
There was no moonlight, only orange, smoky lanterns, and the light made the snow glitter and turned the shadows into blood. #Quote by Erik Tavares

#81. I never have lunch because it makes me foggy-headed. #Quote by Dean Koontz

#82. Once I thought I saw you in a crowded hazy bar,
Dancing on the light from star to star.
Far across the moonbeam I know that's who you are,
I saw your brown eyes turning once to fire.
I am just a dreamer, but you are just a dream,
You could have been anyone to me.
Before that moment you touched my lips
That perfect feeling when time just slips
Away between us on our foggy trip. #Quote by Neil Young

#83. Looking up occasionally to see rare cars crossing the high bridge and wondering what they'd see on this drear foggy night if they knew a madman was down there a thousand feet below in all that windy fury sitting in the dark writing in the dark - Some sort of sea beatnik, tho anybody wants to call me a beatnik for THIS better try it if they dare - The huge black rocks seem to move - The bleak awful roaring isolateness, no ordinary man could do it I'm telling you - I am a Breton! I cry and the blackness speaks back "Les poissons de la mer parlent Breton" (the fishes of the sea speak Breton) - Nevertheless I go there every night even tho I dont feel like it, it's my duty (and probably drove me mad), and write these sea sounds, and all the whole insane poem "Sea". #Quote by Jack Kerouac

#84. It was a good hald minute before I looked over at Todd. his eyes were slightly foggy, like he was waking up- reluctantly- from a lascivious dream. "I didn't know they still made them like that," he said ...
"Cool, tough, retro-manly. The kind who only cries if someone just ran over their dog. The big chested guy we can indulge our pathetic Daddy complexes with. #Quote by Lisa Kleypas

#85. Look, I get it. I'm a white, heterosexual man. It's really easy for me to say, 'Oh, wow, wasn't the nineteenth century terrific?' But try this. Imagine the scene: It's pouring rain against a thick window. Outside, on Baker Street, the light from the gas lamps is so weak that it barely reaches the pavement. A fog swirls in the air, and the gas gives it a pale yellow glow. Mystery brews in every darkened corner, in every darkened room. And a man steps out into that dim, foggy world, and he can tell you the story of your life by the cut of your shirtsleeves. He can shine a light into the dimness, with only his intellect and his tobacco smoke to help him. Now. Tell me that's not awfully romantic? #Quote by Graham Moore

#86. FAUSTUS. Ah, Faustus,
Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,
And then thou must be damn'd perpetually!
Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven,
That time may cease, and midnight never come;
Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again, and make
Perpetual day; or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul!
O lente,172 lente currite, noctis equi!
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,
The devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd.
O, I'll leap up to my God! - Who pulls me down? -
See, see, where Christ's blood streams in the firmament!
One drop would save my soul, half a drop: ah, my Christ! -
Ah, rend not my heart for naming of my Christ!
Yet will I call on him: O, spare me, Lucifer! -
Where is it now? 'tis gone: and see, where God
Stretcheth out his arm, and bends his ireful brows!
Mountains and hills, come, come, and fall on me,
And hide me from the heavy wrath of God!
No, no!
Then will I headlong run into the earth:
Earth, gape! O, no, it will not harbour me!
You stars that reign'd 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[s],
That, when you173 vomit forth into the air,
My limbs may issue from your smoky mouths,
So th #Quote by Christopher Marlowe

#87. Sleep felt productive. Something was getting sorted out. I knew in my heart - this was, perhaps, the only thing my heart knew back then - that when I'd slept enough, I'd be okay. I'd be renewed, reborn. I would be a whole new person, every one of my cells regenerated enough times that the old cells were just distant, foggy memories. My past life would be but a dream, and I could start over without regrets, bolstered by the bliss and serenity that I would have accumulated in my year of rest and relaxation. #Quote by Ottessa Moshfegh

#88. I'm many things, but not a monster."

Oh, he is. A beautiful monster. He would fit perfectly in one of those classic novels. A beast of a man, his pride torn to shreds, skulking around the foggy streets of London, destroying anything in his path to aid his pain. #Quote by V. Theia

#89. I don't remember getting out of the elevator and going through the lobby. Everything is becoming increasingly foggy. I just find myself standing in front of the hotel all of a sudden.
A Blue and white car stops in front of me. Numbly, I open the back door and slide into the seat.
"Can I help you" the dark haired driver asks, swiveling his head to look at me.
"I need to get home to Hidden Cove."
"Lady, this isn't a cab"
Oh. Great.
"Sorry', I mutter, quickly sliding back out.
This time I make sure the car says cab on it before I get in. #Quote by Nicole Christie

#90. In a foggy morning, sunshine coming through the trees looks so divine that we seriously think it is the hand of the very divinity itself! #Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

#91. But mash whiskey took some of the dry away and made Augustus feel nicely misty inside - foggy and cool as a morning in the Tennessee hills. He seldom got downright drunk, but he did enjoy feeling misty along about sundown, #Quote by Larry McMurtry

#92. Kingsley could 'do' the sound of a brass band approaching on a foggy day. He could become the Metropolitan line train entering Edgware Road station. He could be four wrecked tramps coughing in a bus shelter (this was very demanding and once led to heart palpitations). To create the hiss and crackle of a wartime radio broadcast delivered by Franklin Delano Roosevelt was for him scant problem (a tape of it, indeed, was played at his memorial meeting, where I was hugely honored to be among the speakers). The pièce de résistance, an attempt by British soldiers to start up a frozen two-ton truck on a windy morning 'somewhere in Germany,' was for special occasions only. One held one's breath as Kingsley emitted the first screech of the busted starting-key. His only slightly lesser vocal achievement - of a motor-bike yelling in mechanical agony - once caused a man who had just parked his own machine in the street to turn back anxiously and take a look. The old boy's imitation of an angry dog barking the words 'fuck off' was note-perfect. #Quote by Christopher Hitchens

#93. This modesty in a sect is perhaps a singular instance in the history of mankind, every other sect supposing itself in possession of all truth, and that those who differ are so far in the wrong; like a man traveling in foggy weather, those at some distance before him on the road he sees wrapped up in the fog, as well as those behind him, and also the people in the fields on each side, but near him all appears clear, tho' in truth he is as much in the fog as any of them. #Quote by Benjamin Franklin

#94. And then she is kissing me, right here on the sidewalk on a foggy summer night. Violet is kissing me, and everything is perfect. The kiss doesn't end. We are not two girls on a polite first date, bestowing a customary good-night peck.
No.
We are kissing like girls who have ached for each other for years who never even spoke but somehow exchanged I love yous anyway. #Quote by Nina LaCour

#95. Off Castle Garden, a mile to the southeast, near the western edge of Governors Island, a ship lay resting through a foggy spring night before the long and arduous trip back to the old world - whether Riga, Naples, or Constantinople is not certain. #Quote by Mark Helprin

#96. In fact, sometimes she looks at me in this way I can't really describe but it does things to my heart. It warms me up, from head to toe and my chest is the epicenter. I just want to bottle that look and hold onto forever, open it on a cold, foggy day and feel bright and alive all over again. #Quote by Karina Halle

#97. In fact, two slices of whole wheat bread increase blood sugar to a higher level than a candy bar does. And then, after about two hours, your blood sugar plunges and you get shaky, your brain feels foggy, you're hungry. #Quote by William Davis

#98. The heavy red roses smoldering in the foggy morning, blood-colored and uninhibited, made me greedy, and tempted me powerfully to steal one
I asked the prices merely so I could come as near them as possible. #Quote by Knut Hamsun

#99. We crossed the Mississippi and on to Illinois. At Starved Rock, 100 miles south of Chicago, we followed 40 or 50 bikers with 'Bikers against Child Abuse' as their colours. Next was Indiana, with foggy river towns and vast farmlands, Amish homes in Ohio with smoke curling from the chimneys, then 43 miles of unbroken forests and prime trout-water rivers in West Virginia. We stayed overnight and ate fresh game pie, although whether we were eating possum, rabbit or raccoon we never discovered. #Quote by Karl Wiggins

#100. I came to love the way Morrie lit up when I entered the room. He did this for many people, I know, but it was his special talent to make each visitor feel that the smile was unique.
"Ahhhh, it's my buddy," he would say when he saw me, in that foggy, high-pitched voice. And it didn't stop with the greeting. When Morrie was with you, he was really with you. He looked you straight in the eye, and he listened as if you were the only person in the world. How much better would people get along if their first encounter each day were like this - instead of a grumble from a waitress or a bus driver or a boss?
"I believe in being fully present," Morrie said. "That means you should be with the person you're with. When I'm talking to you now, Mitch, I try to keep focused only on what is going on between us. I am not thinking about something we said last week. I am not thinking of what's coming up this Friday. I am not thinking about doing another Koppel show, or about what medications I'm taking.
"I am talking to you. I am thinking about you."
I remembered how he used to teach this idea in the Group Process class back at Brandeis. I had scoffed back then, thinking this was hardly a lesson plan for a university course. Learning to pay attention? How important could that be? I now know it is more important than almost everything they taught us in college. #Quote by Mitch Albom

#101. The toad looked embarrassed. "I don't know," it said. "It's all a bit…foggy. I just know I've been a person. At least, I think I know. It gives me the willies. Sometimes I wake up in the night and I think, was I ever really human? Or was I just a toad that got on her nerves and she made me think I was human once? That'd be a real torture, right? Supposing there's nothing for me to turn back into?" The toad turned worried yellow eyes on her. "After all, it can't be very hard to mess with a toad's head, yeah? It must be much simpler than turning, oh, a one-hundred-and-sixty-pound human into eight ounces of toad, yes? After all, where's the rest of the mass going to go, I ask myself? Is it just sort of, you know, left over? Very worrying. I mean, I've got one or two memories of being a human, of course, but what's a memory? Just a thought in your brain. You can't be sure it's real. Honestly, on nights when I've eaten a bad slug, I wake up screaming, except all that comes out is a croak. Thank you for the milk, it was very nice. #Quote by Terry Pratchett

#102. Take me disappearing, through the smoke rings of my mind, down the foggy ruins of time ... #Quote by Bob Dylan

#103. We kissed again, and I shivered in the cold night air. Wanting to get me out of the cold, he led me to his pickup and opened the door so we could both climb in. The pickup was still warm and toasty, like a campfire was burning in the backseat. I looked at him, giggled like a schoolgirl, and asked, "What have you been doing all this time?"
"Oh, I was headed home," he said, fiddling with my fingers. "But then I just turned around; I couldn't help it." His hand found my upper back and pulled me closer. The windows were getting foggy. I felt like I was seventeen.
"I've got this problem," he continued, in between kisses.
"Yeah?" I asked, playing dumb. My hand rested on his left bicep. My attraction soared to the heavens. He caressed the back of my head, messing up my hair…but I didn't care; I had other things on my mind.
"I'm crazy about you," he said.
By now I was on his lap, right in the front seat of his Diesel Ford F250, making out with him as if I'd just discovered the concept. I had no idea how I'd gotten there--the diesel pickup or his lap. But I was there. And, burying my face in his neck, I quietly repeated his sentiments. "I'm crazy about you, too."
I'd been afflicted with acute boy-craziness for over half my life. But what I was feeling for Marlboro Man was indescribably powerful. It was a primal attraction--the almost uncontrollable urge to wrap my arms and legs around him every time I looked into his eyes. The increased heart rate and res #Quote by Ree Drummond

#104. There was always something disappointing about clouds when you were inside them; they ceased to be clouds at all. It just got really foggy. #Quote by David Foster Wallace

#105. The worst days are when you feel foggy in the head - chemo-brain they call it. It's awful because you feel boring. As well as bored. And stupid. And resigned. #Quote by Christopher Hitchens

#106. If you want to see what the fog hides in itself, don't wait for the fog to disperse! Instead of waiting for something to happen in this short life, do something immediately! Enter the fog! #Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

#107. My foggy brain slid away and
And I was still dressed in only my bra and panties.
Well, at least it's a nice set of bra and panties.
Yep, these were the thoughts going through my brain as I looked at a photo of a decapitated head on my bed. #Quote by Kelley Armstrong

#108. I've become a kissing addict. I think that's it. The buzzy feeling. Burning lips. The foggy eyes. Maybe i could kiss every good-looking guy here at school. Maybe even the good-looking male teachers. The thought warms me and troubles me at the same time. #Quote by Carol Lynch Williams

#109. Composing is like driving down a foggy road toward a house. Slowly you see more details of the house-the color of the slates and bricks, the shape of the windows. The notes are the bricks and the mortar of the house. #Quote by Benjamin Britten

#110. The wound healed and the pain receded from me just as memories do, like landmarks on a distant, foggy shore. #Quote by Gregory David Roberts

#111. Inevitable pickup trucks complete with full gun racks,
chainsaws,
fishing poles,
and big, sneering dogs in the back,
line the streets and parking lots.
Meek murmur of autumn skies,
Ford and Chevy outfits to roll through town,
as people get ready for a long, gray, foggy winter,
big, four-wheel-drive pickups with snow blades attached,
the box loaded down,
with a high stack of cordwood topped by a huge elk carcass,
to go disheartened in the midst of wretched weather,
cold, raw, continually snowing. #Quote by Brian D'Ambrosio

#112. The number of foggy days over the city is never reported, reportedly. But take it from me -  there's enough to satisfy everyone, and dissatisfy somebody. #Quote by Herb Caen

#113. When I started to climb, the sky seemed to be sunny and blue. But being up here on the oak tree it is cloudy and foggy. #Quote by Sandra Harner

#114. In the country, a good he-snowstorm makes a lovely design for putting on a holiday greetings card. In the city it just makes an infernal mess for the street-cleaning department to wrestle with. ... By midday of next day it would be licked to a custard - molten into puddles of foggy slush where cellar furnaces exhaled their hot breath up out of sidewalk gratings, roiled and fouled and crunched down beneath the heels and the tires of the town, flung up in crumply billows by the conscripted shovel crews, and under the park trees and on the park meadows would show a stark and grayish cast like the face of a grimy pauper whose corpse the undertaker scanted. And the longer it stayed there the sootier and the dirtier and the deader-looking it would get to be. You may worry the city with your winter weathers; you cannot keep her licked for any great length of time. #Quote by Irvin S. Cobb

#115. The sun has come up and I am sitting by a window that is foggy with the breath of a life gone by. #Quote by Nicholas Sparks

#116. The inability to correctly perceive reality is often responsible for humans' insane behavior. And every time they substitute an all-purpose, sloppy slang word for words that would accurately describe an emotion or a situation, it lowers their reality orientations, pushes them farther from shore, out onto the foggy waters of alienation and confusion. #Quote by Tom Robbins

#117. The city wasn't foggy as always. It was now clear for miles and the skeleton of its frames stuck out brightly in the sun's light. With no sun on the ground, I saw fields of green tall grass. Nature always grows. If a scare is to be had, a new type of skin will inhabit the area. All it takes to have a scare is blood, and blood is all it takes to mend. #Quote by Andrew Boyd

#118. Well,' said Can o' Beans, a bit hesitantly,' imprecise speech is one of the major causes of mental illness in human beings.'

Huh?'

Quite so. The inability to correctly perceive reality is often responsible for humans' insane behavior. And every time they substitute an all-purpose, sloppy slang word for the words that would accurately describe an emotion or a situation, it lowers their reality orientations, pushes them farther from shore, out onto the foggy waters of alienation and confusion.'

The manner in which the other were regarding him/her made Can O' Beans feel compelled to continue. 'The word neat, for example, has precise connotations. Neat means tidy, orderly, well-groomed. It's a valuable tool for describing the appearance of a room, a hairdo, or a manuscript. When it's generically and inappropriately applied, though, as it is in the slang aspect, it only obscures the true nature of the thing or feeling that it's supposed to be representing. It's turned into a sponge word. You can wring meanings out of it by the bucketful--and never know which one is right. When a person says a movie is 'neat,' does he mean that it's funny or tragic or thrilling or romantic, does he mean that the cinematography is beautiful, the acting heartfelt, the script intelligent, the direction deft, or the leading lady has cleavage to die for? Slang possesses an economy, an immediacy that's attractive, all right, but it devalues experience by standardizing and #Quote by Tom Robbins