Atmospheric Writing Quotes

“The cotton was open and spilling into the fields; the very air smelled of it. In field after field as he passed along the pickers, arrested in stooping attitudes, seemed fixed amid the constant surf of bursting bolls like piles in surf, the long, partly-filled sacks streaming away behind them like rigid frozen flags. The air was hot, vivid and breathless--a final fierce concentration of the doomed and dying summer.”
― William Faulkner, The Hamlet

“In the open sky above the hushed streets, the moon was a porcelain plate on a black table as I walked home. A breeze raised the collar of my jeans jacket as I sliced through the silvery silence, past unlit buildings and quivering trees and cars idle by the curb. The air felt like glass. I crossed empty corners under the mauve light of overhead lamps.”
― Andrew Cotto, Outerborough Blues: A Brooklyn Mystery

“I had a feeling of deja-vu when, the next afternoon, Julian answered the door exactly as he had the first time, by opening it only a crack and looking through it warily, as if there were something wonderful in his office that needed guarding, something that he was careful not everyone should see. It was a feeling I would come to know well in the next months.
Even now, years later and far away, sometimes in dreams I find myself standing before that white door, waiting for him to appear like the gatekeeper in a fairy story: ageless, watchful, sly as a child.”
― Donna Tartt, The Secret History

“The carnation's flower's scent
is fragrant in the breeze.
It wakes me so I escape
the dark world of dreams.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Fleur of Yesterday

“My throat is burning.
Tears are spilling from my eyes.
I know I need to go but ...
I am drawn to ...

"Below the haze,
I can just make out
the ripples of my village lake.
It is a place I hold dear to my heart.
I feel so drawn to it.
A place of love for me and ....

"Sherwin.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Fleur of Yesterday

“For a moment I breathe softly,
my heart dancing in memories
of your gentle words and touch.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Fleur of Yesterday

“On my first night there, I sat on the bad during the twilight while the walls went slowly from gray to gold to black, listening to a soprano's voice climb dizzily up and down somewhere at the other end of the hall until at last the light was completely gone, and the faraway soprano spiraled on and on in the darkness like some angel of death, and I can't remember the air even seeming as high and cold and rarefied as it was that night, or ever feeling farther away from the low-slung lines of dusty Piano.”
― Donna Tartt, The Secret History

“Yes, I see it.
It is falling to the ground
Scarred with burn holes and marks,
yet still it floats.
It whispers gently in the wind like Fleur with all her hope.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Fleur of Yesterday

“I was running, as fast as I could,
carrying you, Carnation,
shaking and scared ...

She was there, waiting for me.
Standing surrounded by a meadow of lavender,
her arms opened wide for me
to run into and cry and cry ...”
― Susan L. Marshall, Fleur of Yesterday

“Distracted I was, by his dark eyes,
his promises that we would have time,
away from all this mayhem,
somewhere secluded and private.
A chance to be lost in each other.

Lured I was, into his desires.
Torn away from this gathering,
this precious, significant time.

Away from my duties for Fleur.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Fleur of Yesterday

“The dress I seek cannot be found.
It is tucked away deeply inside
the constant flickering shadows
of my very absent mind.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Fleur of Yesterday

“Your memory will return when it’s ready.
I haven’t got much more energy, Fleur.
The wind is helping me to time travel
and be here with you this yesterday.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Fleur of Yesterday

“the old and worn buildings held a theatrical magic to their fading façades. They were weathered almost by design; they almost looked like they had been lifted from some stage designer's idyllic dream for an opera setting.

The dusty, powdery ochres, terracottas, pale blues and pine greens lit by that soft morning glow; the comforting sun's ascent to its daily station, high and shining above that glorious, sparkling old city.”
― Robertson Tait, Scot Free in Hollywood

“She watched the thick, clear plastic sheeting covering the hole on the roof rise and fall in tune with the wintry blasts like the last gasps of a dying man.”
― Jim Lowe, New Reform

“In every room against the brown backdrop, there would be St George Crosses and Union Jacks. Even the crockery would be adorned with symbols of this so-called great land.”
― Jim Lowe, New Reform

“She would look wistfully at the sky, and she relished her favourite freezing cold, north-easterly winds, that blew bitter draughts that mixed with her drifting tobacco smoke throughout the home, ‘They are the spirits of the old country,’ she would always say.”
― Jim Lowe, New Reform

“The supporters swayed forwards and backwards like waves crashing on the shore.”
― Jim Lowe, New Reform

“Among the supporters was Jack, who shouted, jeered and hurled abuse with hundreds of other like-minded dead souls.”
― Jim Lowe, New Reform

“This was not a romantic half-light, the white tailor’s dummies that stood like Terracotta Warriors forever on guard in her basic room, infused up the eerie glow like sunbathers soaking up the ultra-violet rays on a beach.”
― Jim Lowe, New Reform

“Самое главное – это атмосфера и мгновения.
Это – то прозрачное и величественное, что существует в жизни. И воспоминания состоят именно из этих мгновений, которые, как яркие вспышки, появляются среди мрака прошлого. Когда ты внезапно можешь осознать, что было важным для тебя в то далекое время. И эти воспоминания наполняют тебя сегодняшнего. И как волны бесконечного, движущегося моря памяти приходят на берег жизни.
И ты начинаешь чувствовать себя свободным и бесконечным в своем путешествии по этому морю.”
― Ekaterina Yakovina, Cherez Goroda k Sebe

“I land on hard wood planks, bouncing onto my bottom and thighs.
I am sprawled on my back,
staring up at the golden flowered handrail
of the footbridge ...

You are leaning on the handrail with one arm,
pulling fiercely at your hair.
A striking, handsome subject,
against a backdrop of the pink and purple hues of sunset.”
― Susan L. Marshall

“The coal inside her ribs glowed hotter, daring the dark to try and snuff it out”
― Aussprey Dixon, The Quieting: A Gothic Psychological Thriller