Khusrau “was one of the first to offer his congratulations to the murderer whose hands were still red with the blood of his king, his uncle and his benefactor… The poet changed with changing time and turned with shifting wind.”

Theophrastus of Eresus... wrote a book On Winds and on Weather Signs, but like most other Greek philosophers, he was hardly the man to adopt patient and exact observation in place of dogmatic assertion and the teaching of authority.

You've got to know who you are before you step into this business, because if you're trying to find it, you'll probably wind up being somebody else, that you probably don't even like. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPItgCnamNg]

Fletch. Until last week, he was just another mild-mannered reporter fighting for truth, justice and a window office. Now he's being threatened, shot at, accused and arrested. And that's by the people he's trying to help. But there's still one thing even more dangerous than his work. His love life.

I'm all right...I just got the wind knocked out of me, that's all...

Eros has shaken my mind,
wind sweeping down the mountain on oaks

As for the apostolic epistles, what person who is skilled in literary interpretation would think them to be plain and easily understood, when even in them there are thousands of passages that provide, as it through a window, a narrow opening leading to multitudes of the deepest thoughts?

There was a girl called Nanibala... ...used to live in a ladies' hostel. The whole day... sitting by the window... ...she used to bite her nails! I will never forget Nanibala.

I feel like somebody just punched me in the stomach and knocked all my wind out. I'm only 30 years old and I want to have a chance to continue creating things. I know I've got at least one more great computer in me. And Apple is not going to give me a chance to do that.

Perhaps we cannot raise the winds. But each of us can put up the sail, so that when the wind comes we can catch it.

What is the purpose of houses? It is to protect us from the wind and cold of winter, the heat and rain of summer, and to keep out robbers and thieves. Once these ends have been secured, that is all. Whatever does not contribute to these ends should be eliminated.[6]

Who sits alone by the bright window?
My shadow and I, only we two.
But the lamp burns out, there is darkness.
Even my shadow forsakes me.
Alas, alas!
I am forlorn!

The Mississippi and its paddle boats, and the rivers of Bengal and their gleaming steamers evoked a similar atmosphere of romance, of long, song-filled voyages, high winds and lonely sunsets.

It is that wind it is that voice buzzing it is whispering and whistling in the wires miles upon miles upon miles on the wires in the wind in the subway track in the rolling road in the not silent bush it is the voice of the noise here it comes the Third World Express they must say, here we go again.