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“Rain slips through your fingers as easily as words blow away in the wind, and yet it has the power to destroy your whole world.”
― Karen Maitland, Company of Liars

“Rain amplifies your mistakes, and water on the track can make your car handle unpredictably. When something unpredictable happens you have to react to it; if you’re reacting at speed, you’re reacting too late. And so you should be afraid.”
― Garth Stein, The Art of Racing in the Rain

“God is a cloud from which rain fell.”
― Dejan Stojanovic, The Sun Watches the Sun

“Very gently. Like there are eggshells on your pedals, and you don’t want to break them. That’s how you drive in the rain.”
― Garth Stein, The Art of Racing in the Rain

“I, too, seem to be a connoisseur of rain, but it does not fill me with joy; it allows me to steep myself in a solitude I nurse like a vice I've refused to vanquish.”
― Julia Glass, Three Junes

“That weekend the city blushed with a great heat wave but on Monday it rained, cooling the ache in the street’s burn.”
― Daniel Amory, Minor Snobs

“Or I would be the rain itself, wreathing over the island, mingling in the quiet of moist places, filling its pores with its saturated breaths. And I would be the wind, whispering through the tangled woods, running airy fingers over the island’s face, tingling in the chill of concealed places, sighing secrets in the dawn. And I would be the light, flinging over the island, covering it with flash and shadow, shining on rocks and pools, softening to a touch in the glow of dusk. If I were the rain and wind and light, I would encircle the island like the sky surrounding earth, flood through it like a heart driven pulse, shine from inside it like a star in flames, burn away to blackness in the closed eyes of its night. There are so many ways I could love this island, if I were the rain.”
― Richard Nelson, Island Within

“My mother used to say that rain here pours like a blessing, like a thick veil that parts to reveal the bride's face. But nearly every day, when this rain parted, it revealed a long line of soldiers, like you, like death, marching toward us, and we would scatter with a practiced silence and hide.”
― Mia Kirshner, I Live Here

“Which is just another way of blaming, and perhaps the best way, because there is solace and a certain stoical peace in blaming everything on the rain, and then blaming something as uncontrollable as the rain on something as indifferent as the Arm of the Lord.

Because nothing can be done about the rain except blaming. And if nothing can be done about it, why get yourself in a sweat about it?”
― Ken Kesey, Sometimes a Great Notion

“Sitting on the porch alone, listening to them fixing supper, he felt again the indignation he had felt before, the sense of loss and the aloneness, the utter defenselessness that was each man's lot, sealed up in his bee cell from all the others in the world. But the smelling of boiling vegetables and pork reached him from the inside, the aloneness left him for a while. The warm moist smell promised other people lived and were preparing supper.

He listened to the pouring and the thunder rumblings that sounded hollow like they were in a rainbarrel, shared the excitement and the coziness of the buzzing insects that had sought refuge on the porch, and now and then he slapped detachedly at the mosquitoes, making a sharp crack in the pouring buzzing silence. The porch sheltered him from all but the splashes of the drops that hit the floor and their spray touched him with a pleasant chill. And he was secure, because someewhere out beyond the wall of water humanity still existed, and was preparing supper.”
― James Jones, From Here to Eternity

“Although it wasn't raining anymore, the air was still heavy with water, and rain gutters were ringing all over Point Breeze.”
― Michael Chabon, Wonder Boys

“Yıldızlar kıyamet gibiydi kaldırımlarda
Çünkü biraz evvel yağmur yağmıştı
Adam bulut gibiydi, hatırladı
Adamın ayaklarının altında
Yıldızların yıldız olduğu vardı
Adam yıldızlara basa basa yürüdü
Çünkü biraz önce yaÄŸmur yaÄŸmıştı...”
― Cemal Süreya

“The vast world rainless, one may bid adieu
To charity and penance.”
― Tiruvalluvar, Kural

“This is what fun is like," said Rain, almost to herself.”
― Gregory Maguire, Out of Oz

“The air was warm and heavy as sprinkles began to fall from the clouds high above. The Triton glided through the waters and the whoosh of the ship combined with the steady beat of the rain to make a concerto, like a pianist fluttering his fingers on the keys at one end and running his fingers up and down the scales at the other. Expectancy hung in the air as the tune moved to a crescendo.”
― Victoria Kahler, Capturing the Sunset

“What an ambiance, and such a pity I'm alone: Candles giving off their glow, gusts of wind and the light tapping of rain on the windowpane - a massage for the mind. And a comforting one, too.”
― Donna Lynn Hope

“The rain thundered down so heavily that Pritam could imagine that space itself was made of water and was pouring through rents in the sky's tired fabric.”
― Stephen M. Irwin, The Dead Path

“We stepped carefully, so softly, over thorny plants. The dust had turned to mud, splattering our shoes, socks, and legs. By the time we reached the boat, our clothes were clinging to our flesh and stained with the bloody remains of mosquitoes.”
― Mia Kirshner, I Live Here

“The rain of Madre de Dios is similar to that of the Amazon, but there is a petrifying aspect to it, as if it seeks to wound rather than to nurture.”
― Tahir Shah, House of the Tiger King : The Quest for a Lost City

“Bloody rainâ€� says Mr Chivers
Bouncing a basketball
On the one dry patch of court
bloody rain� he nods to our Sports class
And gives us the afternoon off.
Bloody rain all right
As Annabel and I run to Megalong Creek hut
Faster than we ever have in Chivers’s class
And the exercise we have in mind
We’ve been training for all year
But I doubt if old Chivers
Will give us a medal if he ever finds out.
We high jump into the hut
And strip down
Climb under the blankets
And cheer the bloody rain
As it does a lap or two
Around the mountain
While Annabel and me
Embrace like winners should
Like good sports do
As Mr. Chivers sips his third coffee
And twitches his bad knee
From his playing days
While miles away
Annabel and I
Score a convincing victory
And for once in our school life
The words “Physical Education�
Make senseâ€�”
― Steven Herrick, Kissing Annabel: Love, Ghosts, and Facial Hair; A Place Like This

“It commenced raining one day and did not stop for two months. We went through ever different kind of rain they is, cep'n maybe sleet or hail. It was little tiny stinging rain sometimes, an big ole fat rain at others. It came sidewise an straight down an sometimes even seem to stand up from the ground. Nevertheless, we was expected to do our shit, which was mainly walking upland down the hills an stuff looking for gooks.”
― Winston Groom, Forrest Gump

“Behjet eased the horse forward again. "The harvest is failing. There will be no crop at all if this rain doesn't stop - not even hay."
The rain. The rain she'd been so grateful for, the rain that concealed the warping of her shadow. It was going to kill people.”
― Erin Bow, Plain Kate

“Well, I learned to cook. At my age," she told him. "What's next? Art therapy? Anyway, I've had quite a time of it this summer, and who knows what eases down on any road. Come, Rain. A quick goodbye, and off you go."
"Goodbye," said Rain to the Lion, and then to the woman.
"Not to them," said Glinda, "To me."
She turned eyes that were saucerly upon Glinda. "Mum?”
― Gregory Maguire, Out of Oz

“To walk in the rain was fun, and to get wet was fun, and to fall down was fun, and to get hurt was fun.”
― Ruskin Bond, Whispers of the Rain

“Learn to dance like a peacock and rain will never again be a hardship!”
― Palak Tewary

“The scent of rain
On a night as such, raindrops become the songmaker, as memories knock unannounced on the doorway, entering my deep, releasing the river of lyrics. Haunted by the days that no longer remain, as life seems like a mist, there comes the scent of rain with a smell of memories, washing away the sadness that lingered in the breeze.
This soul of mine is drunken into the rain for it is the flow of liquid memories, the times we once had echoing through the alleys. In the rain is carried the moonlit sonata that your heart once shared with me. The touch of a raindrop and the past explodes with a smell of memories.
But now it is, a lonesome night and the fires must burn bright, for that is how the lamp stays alive with the oil of memories”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“Grief rained in the depths for ages, but now it is a field of flowers.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“When torment tears me inside,
And I sense autumn as a melancholic rain,
There I wonder, what shall I do with the grief so dense?
So I say to this soul of mine,
This earth I love, will reveal new pathways.
And so I open as a flower in the scent of rain,
Make music out of memories that remain.
I climb to the peaks, kissing the sky,
Longing to speak of the strength they hold,
I rush to the rivers, melodious in flow,
And sense music in the ripples, when wild winds blow.
I search for the stars when the night spread over earth,
Unafraid of dark, looking up at the sky.
When morning laughs lazily over the meadows,
The daffodils I watch, spreading gold on the fields.
When time rolls by and sunset kisses the sky,
I fill my soul with the cup of crimson.
When night steals the earth, and darkness comes down,
The memories I weave, into the flowers of light.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“Rain comes down as the sky kisses the earth.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“The heavens opened and there was a thunderstorm. The rain hammered on the windscreen and the wipers became frantic in their efforts to push it away; headlights came on everywhere and the spray from tyres seemed to be going in all directions at once. It was going to be short and sharp, and so Smith pulled up in the road outside Woodlands where he’d waited once before, giving the rain a minute or two to cease. He wound down the windows a little and the smell of it wafted into the car â€� petrichor, the magical scent released when the golden blood of the gods touches the arid rocks of the earth. The older you get, he thought, the more evocative such things become. It smells like a secret.”
― Peter Grainger, The Camera Man