Breeze meaning

Noun: breeze

Pronunciation: (breez)

Breeze meaning:

• A slight wind (usually refreshing)

Synonyms: zephyr, gentle wind, air 

• [informal] Any undertaking that is easy to do

Synonyms: cinch, picnic, snap, duck soup, child’s play, pushover, walkover, piece of cake, doss

Verb: breeze

Pronunciation: (breez)

Breeze meaning:

• Blow gently and lightly

• [informal] To proceed quickly and easily

Derived forms: breezed, breezing, breezes
Quotations:

1. Michel Onfray – You cannot kill a breeze, a wind, a fragrance, you cannot kill a dream or an ambition.
2. Erin Hanson – There is freedom waiting for you,On the breezes of the sky. And you ask what if I fall? Oh but my darling, what if you fly.
3. J.K. Rowling – A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours’ time by Mrs. Dursley’s scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley. He couldn’t know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: To Harry Potter – the boy who lived!
4. Maggie Stiefvater – I fell for her in summer, my lovely summer girl. From summer she is made, my lovely summer girl, I’d love to spend a winter with my lovely summer girl. But I’m never warm enough for my lovely summer girl, It’s summer when she smiles, I’m laughing like a child. It’s the summer of our lives; we’ll contain it for a while she holds the heat, the breeze of summer in the circle of her hand I’d be happy with this summer if it’s all we ever had.
5. Mitch Albom – There are no random acts.We are all connected. You can no more separate one life from another than you can separate a breeze from the wind.
6. Hunter S. Thompson – There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death? If making love might be fatal and if a cool spring breeze on any summer afternoon can turn a crystal blue lake into a puddle of black poison right in front of your eyes, there is not much left except TV and relentless masturbation. It’s a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat shit and die.
7. Maya Angelou – Caged BirdA free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hillfor the caged bird sings of freedom.
8. Philip Pullman – Even if it means oblivion, friends, I’ll welcome it, because it won’t be nothing. We’ll be alive again in a thousand blades of grass, and a million leaves, we’ll be falling in the raindrops and blowing in the fresh breeze, we’ll be glittering in the dew under the stars and the moon out there in the physical world, which is our true home and always was.
9. J.K. Rowling – Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these, said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers. I’m not putting them on, said old Archie in indignation. I like a healthy breeze round my privates, thanks.
10. Rachel Hawkins – At a normal high school, having class outside on a gorgeous May day is usually pretty awesome. It means sitting in the sunshine, maybe reading some poetry, letting the breeze blow through your hair. At Hecate Hall, a.k.a. Juvie for Monsters, it meant I was getting thrown in the pond.

Sample sentences:

1. After all, reading is arguably a far more creative and imaginative process than writing; when the reader creates emotion in their head, or the colors of the sky during the setting sun, or the smell of a warm summer’s breeze on their face, they should reserve as much praise for themselves as they do for the writer – perhaps more.
2. And I learned what is obvious to a child. That life is simply a collection of little lives, each lived one day at a time. That each day should be spent finding beauty in flowers and poetry and talking to animals. That a day spent with dreaming and sunsets and refreshing breezes cannot be bettered. But most of all, I learned that life is about sitting on benches next to ancient creeks with my hand on her knee and sometimes, on good days, for falling in love.
3. To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else’s heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.
4. America, my love, you are sunlight falling through trees. You are laughter that breaks through sadness. You are the breeze on a too-war day. You are clarity in the midst of confusion.You are not the world, but you are everything that makes the world good. Without you, my life would still exist, but that’s all it would manage to do.You said that to get things right one of us would have to take a leap of faith. I think I’ve discovered the canyon that must be leaped, and I hope to find you waiting for me on the other side.I love you, America.Yours forever,Maxon.
5. The breezes at dawn have secrets to tell you don’t go back to sleep!You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep! People are going back and forth across the doors ill where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don’t go back to sleep!
6. I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed and gazed but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For often, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
7. The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep.
8. Like this if anyone asks you how the perfect satisfaction of all our sexual wanting will look, lift your face and say, Like this.When someone mentions the gracefulness of the night sky, climb up on the roof and dance and say, Like this. If anyone wants to know what spirit is,or what God’s fragrance means, lean your head toward him or her. Keep your face there close.Like this. When someone quotes the old poetic image about clouds gradually uncovering the moon, slowly loosen knot by knot the strings of your robe. Like this.If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead, don’t try to explain the miracle. Kiss me on the lips.Like this. Like this.When someone asks what it means to die for love, point here. If someone asks how tall I am, frown and measure with your fingers the space between the creases on your forehead. This tall.The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns. When someone doesn’t believe that, walk back into my house. Like this. When lovers moan, they’re telling our story. Like this. I am a sky where spirits live.Stare into this deepening blue, while the breeze says a secret. Like this. When someone asks what there is to do, light the candle in his hand.Like this. How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob? How did Jacob’s sight return? A little wind cleans the eyes. Like this. When Shams comes back from Tabriz, he’ll put just his head around the edge of the door to surprise us Like this.
9. All her life, she had learned that passion, like fire, was a dangerous thing. It so easily went out of control. It scaled walls and jumped over trenches. Sparks leapt like fleas and spread as rapidly; a breeze could carry embers for miles. Better to control that spark and pass it carefully from one generation to the next, like an Olympic torch. Or, perhaps, to tend it carefully like an eternal flame: a reminder of light and goodness that would never could never set anything ablaze. Carefully controlled. Domesticated. Happy in captivity. The key, she thought, was to avoid conflagration.
10. Each time a breeze starts, I feel the air all the way through me.
11. A fragrant breeze wandered up from the quiet sea, trailed along the beach, and drifted back to the sea again, wondering where to go next. On a mad impulse it went up to the beach again. It drifted back to sea.
12. Being the only female in what was basically a boys’ club must have been difficult for her. Miraculously, she didn’t compensate by becoming hard or quarrelsome. She was still a girl, a slight lovely girl who lay in bed and ate chocolates, a girl whose hair smelled like hyacinth and whose scarves fluttered jauntily in the breeze. But strange and marvelous as she was, a wisp of silk in a forest of black wool, she was not the fragile creature one would have her seem.
13. December 27, 11:00 p.m.My Dear America,I’ve never written a love letter, so forgive me if I fail now. The simple thing would be to say that I love you. But, in truth, it’s so much more than that. I want you, America. I need you. I’ve held back so much from you out of fear. I’m afraid that if I show you everything at once, it will overwhelm you, and you’ll run away. I’m afraid that somewhere in the back of your heart is a love for someone else that will never die. I’m afraid that I will make a mistake again, something so huge that you retreat into that silent world of yours. No scolding from a tutor, no lashing from my father, no isolation in my youth has ever hurt me so much as you separating yourself from me.I keep thinking that it’s there, waiting to come back and strike me. So I’ve held on to all my options, fearing that the moment I wipe them away, you will be standing there with your arms closed, happy to be my friend but unable to be my equal, my queen, my wife.And for you to be my wife is all I want in the world. I love you. I was afraid to admit it for a long time, but I know it now.I would never rejoice in the loss of your father, the sadness you’ve felt since he passed, or the emptiness I’ve experienced since you left. But I’m so grateful that you had to go. I’m not sure how long it would have taken for me to figure this out if I hadn’t had to start trying to imagine a life without you. I know now, with absolute certainty, that is nothing I want.I wish I was as true an artist as you so that I could find a way to tell you what you’ve become to me. America, my love, you are sunlight falling through trees. You are laughter that breaks through sadness. You are the breeze on a too-warm day. You are clarity in the midst of confusion.You are not the world, but you are everything that makes the world good. Without you, my life would still exist, but that’s all it would manage to do.You said that to get things right one of us would have to take a leap of faith. I think I’ve discovered the canyon that must be leaped, and I hope to find you waiting for me on the other side.I love you, America.
14. Dear Goat, How does one fall in love? Do you trip? Do you stumble, lose your balance and drop to the sidewalk, graze your knee, graze your heart? Do you crash to the stony ground? Is there a precipice, from which you float, over the edge, forever?I know I’m in love when I see you, I know when I long to see you. Not a muscle has moved. Leaves hang unruffled by any breeze. The air is still. I have fallen in love without taking step. When did this happen? I haven’t even blinked.I’m on fire. Is that too banal for you? It’s not, you know. You’ll see. It’s what happens. It’s what matters. I’m on fire.I no longer eat, I forget to eat. Food looks silly to me, irrelevant. If I even notice it. But I notice nothing. My thoughts are full and raging, a house full of brothers, related by blood, feuding blood feuds: I’m in love. Typically stupid choice. I am, though, I’m racked by love as if love were pain. Go ahead. Fuck up your life. It’s all wrong and you know it. Wake up. Face it. There’s only one face, it’s all I see, awake or asleep. I threw the book out the window last night. I tried to forget. You are all wrong for me, I know it, but I no longer care for my thoughts unless they’re thoughts of you. When I’m close to you, in your presence, I feel your hair brush my cheek when it does not. I look away from you, sometimes. Then I look back.When I tie my shoes, when I peel an orange, when I drive my car, when I lie down each night without you, I remain,As ever,Ram
15. I don’t know if mama was right, that we each have a destiny, or if if was Lt Dan, that we are all just floating around, accidental, like on a breeze, but I think, I think, maybe it’s both happening at the same time.
16. I wake sometimes in the dark terrified by my life’s precariousness, its thready breath. Beside me, my husband’s pulse beats at his throat; in their beds, my children’s skin shows every faintest scratch. A breeze would blow them over, and the world is filled with more than breezes: diseases and disasters, monsters and pain in a thousand variations. I do not forget either my father and his kind hanging over us, bright and sharp as swords, aimed at our tearing flesh. If they do not fall on us in spite and malice, then they will fall by accident or whim. My breath fights in my throat. How can I live on beneath such a burden of doom? I rise then and go to my herbs. I create something, I transform something. My witchcraft is as strong as ever, stronger. This too is good fortune. How many have such power and leisure and defense as I do? Telemachus comes from our bed to find me. He sits with me in the green smelling darkness, holding my hand. Our faces are both lined now, marked with our years. Circe, he says, it will be all right. It is not the saying of an oracle or a prophet. They are words you might speak to a child. I have heard him say them to our daughters, when he rocked them back to sleep from a nightmare, when he dressed their small cuts, soothed whatever stung. His skin is familiar as my own beneath my fingers. I listen to his breath, warm upon the night air, and somehow I am comforted. He does not mean it does not hurt. He does not mean we are not frightened. Only that: we are here. This is what it means to swim in the tide, to walk the earth and feel it touch your feet. This is what it means to be alive.
17. On the day of the dead, when the year too dies, Must the youngest open the oldest hills through the door of the birds, where the breeze breaks.There fire shall fly from the raven boy. And the silver eyes that see the wind. And the light shall have the harp of gold. By the pleasant lake the Sleepers lie,On Cadfan’s Way where the kestrels call; Though grim from the Grey King shadows fall, Yet singing the golden harp shall guide to break their sleep and bid them ride. When light from the lost land shall return, Six Sleepers shall ride, six Signs shall burn.
18. I spent a long time trying to find my center until I looked closely at it one night & found it had wheels and moved easily in the slightest breeze. So now I spend less time sitting and more time sailing.