Monsoon Season Quotes

I don't think England is that gray but India is like a long drone.

Jal Mahal, Jaipur, holds a special place for me and it is especially beautiful by night. I enjoy our stay at the old havelis in the region.

For me the Everest solo was the icing on the cake of my climbs: the highest mountain in the world, during a monsoon, and as far as possible even on a new route, of course without oxygen.

I love the Mumbai monsoons, but it really does get messy.

In India, one has to plan according to the monsoons.

I grew up in Mumbai.

As a human being living one's life, one is more open to relief when there is rain or the expectation of rain. That readiness for hope gets manifested in my stories and that of many other Indian writers.

The Bay of Bengal is hit frequently by cyclones. The months of November and May, in particular, are dangerous in this regard.

I still miss qualities of Khmer life that are hard to quantify: the slow, sensual pace, the hovering presence of the past, the vast skies filled with terrifying and beautiful butts. And, of course, the food.

The different weather conditions make India the ideal tourist destination.

One of the reasons I like living in Bangkok is that, although it's a megacity, it's very saturated with nature - the vast and brooding skies, the sudden storms and rains, the vegetation and even the animals that abound.

I am a Mumbaikar. It has a special place in my heart.

I love Mumbai for many reasons.

I don't know if you're familiar with Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. You step outside the hotel, and you're soaking wet within 10 minutes.

The choking humidity makes amphibians of us all, in Bombay, breathing water in air; you learn to live with it, and you learn to like it, or you leave.

The L.A. weather is a lot like Taiwan's, where you don't observe four seasons, so the years can pass and you don't feel a thing.

This is one of those big, fat paperbacks, intended to while away a monsoon or two, which, if thrown with a good overarm action, will bring a water buffalo to its knees.

With this recitation of paraphernalia and detritus, O'Brien manages to encapsulate the experience of an army and of a particular war, of a mined and booby-trapped landscape, of cold nights and hot days, of soaking monsoons and rice paddies, and of the possibility of being shot, like Ted Lavender, suddenly and out of nowhere: not only in the middle of a sentence but in the midst of a subordinate clause.

I am a Bombay girl.

It's always been great shooting in Kerala.

I loved Albuquerque! And we were there during monsoon season, which I didn't know was a thing outside of, like, the Far East.