Animals praise a good day, a good hunt. They praise rain if they’re thirsty. That’s prayer. They don’t live an unconscious life, they simply have no language to talk about these things. But they are grateful for the good things that come along.
A bank is a place where they lend you an umbrella in fair weather and ask for it back when it begins to rain.
The drops of rain make a hole in the stone, not by violence, but by oft falling.
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
Into each life some rain must fall.
We can no longer take our own way of life for granted – we know that it may be challenged. And we know this, too – and know it ever more deeply – we know that freedom and democracy are not just big words mouthed by orators but the rain and the wind and the sun, the air and the light by which we breathe and live.
A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.
The rain begins with a single drop.
My face looks like a wedding-cake left out in the rain.
This morning’s scene is good and fine, Long rain has not harmed the land.