What we need to do is always lean into the future; when the world changes around you and when it changes against you - what used to be a tail wind is now a head wind - you have to lean into that and figure out what to do because complaining isn't a strategy.

Anger is a wind which blows out the lamp of the mind.

Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires.

If one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable.

It is the set of the sails, not the direction of the wind that determines which way we will go.

So many gods, so many creeds, so many paths that wind and wind while just the art of being kind is all the sad world needs.

It's not how you start the season, it's how you finish. If you wind up helping the team make the playoffs, that's what you play for. You don't play to put up your numbers, but to try to get a chance to make it to the World Series.

A certain amount of opposition is a great help to a man. Kites rise against, not with, the wind.

When was the last time you spent a quiet moment just doing nothing - just sitting and looking at the sea, or watching the wind blowing the tree limbs, or waves rippling on a pond, a flickering candle or children playing in the park?

To reach a port we must sail, sometimes with the wind, and sometimes against it. But we must not drift or lie at anchor.

True courage is like a kite; a contrary wind raises it higher.

Strong people are made by opposition like kites that go up against the wind.

I cannot explain the wind, but I can hoist a sail.

O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumns being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes.

The substance of the winds is too thin for human eyes, their written language is too difficult for human minds, and their spoken language mostly too faint for the ears.

The Westerly Wind asserting his sway from the south-west quarter is often like a monarch gone mad, driving forth with wild imprecations the most faithful of his courtiers to shipwreck, disaster, and death.

The East Wind, an interloper in the dominions of Westerly Weather, is an impassive-faced tyrant with a sharp poniard held behind his back for a treacherous stab.

The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits.

Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I: But when the trees bow down their heads The wind is passing by.