#Atmospheric
Quotes about atmospheric
The term "atmospheric" evokes a sense of the ethereal and the profound, capturing the essence of environments and emotions that transcend the ordinary. It represents the intangible qualities that create mood and ambiance, whether in a physical space or within the depths of our own experiences. Atmospheric elements can transform a simple moment into something memorable, imbuing it with a sense of wonder and depth. This concept is not confined to the weather or the air around us; it extends to the feelings and sensations that arise when we encounter something truly captivating. People are drawn to quotes about the atmospheric because they offer a glimpse into the beauty and mystery of the world, encouraging reflection and inspiration. These quotes often resonate with those who seek to understand the subtle nuances of life, providing a lens through which to view the world with heightened awareness and appreciation. Whether it's the quiet serenity of a misty morning or the electric energy of a bustling city, the atmospheric invites us to pause and immerse ourselves in the moment, finding meaning in the spaces between words and the silence that surrounds them.
Roads? Who spoke of roads? We go by the moor and the hills, and tread granite and heather as the Druids did before us.
The route started at the station. The first of twelve swings. I stepped into a sheet of water and worked my way downhill. It was a poor part of town -small houses and courts with mailboxes full of spiders, mailboxes hanging by one nail, old women inside rolling cigarettes and chewing tobacco and humming to their canaries and watching you, an idiot in the rain.
The instruments were all half desired, half forgotten. It was as if they were left behind by a ghost right in the middle of playing.
Aus dem dämmrigen Dunkel der Nacht trat eine feste, schwarze Masse von Gebäuden hervor, die sich über einer gewaltigen Fläche ausbreiteten. Das Dorf Mokroje zählte zweitausend Seelen; um diese Stunde schlief jedoch schon alles, nur hier und da schimmerten spärliche Lichter durch die Dunkelheit.
On our way we passed a shop where my mother always ordered flowers. As a child I liked to watch the large storefront window awash in a perpetual curtain of water which came sliding down ever so gently, giving the shop an enchanted, mysterious aura that reminded me of how in many films the screen would blur to announce that a flashback was about to occur.
Exquisitely embroidered tapestries lined the walls of Medb’s bedroom, but their impact was somewhat reduced by the room’s ambience. A musky odor with pungent accents of stale piss.
The lamplight was eerie, and, standing there motionless in our bathrobes, sleepy, with shadows flickering all around, I felt as though I had woken from one dream into an even more remote one, some bizarre wartime bomb shelter of the unconscious.
It was a dark, blustery afternoon in spring, and the city of London was chasing a small mining town across the dried-out bed of the old North Sea.
Shadows were too black, and when a breeze stirred the trees, the shadows changed in a disquieting way.
The smell of tobacco usually reminded Mirabelle of being a child – coming downstairs in the morning when the dinner party her parents had hosted the night before was cleared away, but the scent of cigars still lingered.