“What a strange thing it is to wake up to a milk-white overcast June morning! The sun is hidden by a thick cotton blanket of clouds, and the air is vapor-filled and hazy with a concentration of blooming scent.

The world is somnolent and cool, in a temporary reprieve from the normal heat and radiance.

But the sensation of illusion is strong. Because the sun can break through the clouds at any moment . . .

What a soft thoughtful time.

In this illusory gloom, like a night-blooming flower, let your imagination bloom in a riot of color.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“Gray.
The overcast skies had the colour of deadened stones, and seemed closer than usually, as though they were phlegmatically observing my every movement with their apathetic emptily blue-less eyes; each tiny drop of hazy rain drifting around resembled transparent molten steel, the pavement looked like it was about to burst into disconsolate tears, even the air itself was gray, so ultimate and ubiquitous that colour was everywhere around me.
Gray...”
― Simona Panova, Nightmarish Sacrifice

“The secret island had looked mysterious enough on the night they had seen it before - but now, swimming in the hot June haze, it seemed more enchanting than ever. As they drew near to it, and saw the willow trees that bent over the water-edge and heard the sharp call of moorhens that scuttled off, the children gazed in delight. Nothing but trees and birds and little wild animals. Oh, what a secret island, all for their very own, to live on and play on.”
― Enid Blyton, The Secret Island

“Eagle's flight of loneliness soars so high
Around its sigh, no more alone the sky
Other birds remain away, clouds pass by
Between shrouds of life and haze sun rays die”
― Munia Khan

“In the mirror, he saw himself, a knight with bowed head, offering his service, a sword in his hand, a sword in his back. He felt no pain, only the ache in his heart. Choose me. There were tears on his cheeks, even as he felt the shame of it. She was no one, a girl who had lucked into a gift, who had done nothing to earn it. She was his queen.
"Darlington," she said. But that was not his true name any more than Alex was hers.
If only she would choose him. If only she would let him...
She touched her fingers to his face, lifted his chin. Her lips brushed his ear. He didn't understand it. He only wanted her to do it again. Stars poured through him, a cold and billowing wave of night. He saw everything. He saw their bodies entwined. She was above him and beneath him all at once, her body splayed and white as a lotus flower.”
― Leigh Bardugo, Ninth House

“The only side God chooses is one of commonsense. If it doesn’t make sense; it is not God.”
― Shannon L. Alder

“When the rush of the weak sweeps over those that strive to be strong, its destruction. The commonplaces of moral judgment become fogged with the lack of perception stained with the sting of longing. The voice of reason is lost in the envious echoes of hearts torn by battle. The song of our children echo the misfortune of their parent's haze---we all started out small and had dreams to become something more than what we were.”
― Shannon L. Alder

“Underwater madness slipping into a haze, drowning and choking in repugnant nostalgic thoughts.”
― Karen Quan, Write like no one is reading

“We’re not doing that, and you know it.” He doesn’t speak again I lean closer, lower my voice. “I know things are messy with us, but do you really think I could just walk away from you?”

This time he doesn’t look away. “Do you really think I’d let you?”
― Paula Weston, Haze

“For what was it about books that once finished left the reader in a bit of a haze and made them reread the last few sentences in order to continue the ringing in their hearts a while longer, so as not to let the silence illumine the fact that reading, they had gained something — distance, a lesson, a companion, a new world — but now, after the last full stop, they had lost something palpable and felt a little emptier than before.”
― Kamand Kojouri

“It was one of those sweltering summer days in which the air itself seems to decline as a haze suffocates the outside world. It is painfully bright whether you are looking up at that ball of burning hydrogen or down at its vivid reflection on sheer pavement.”
― Moonshine Noire

“Spirit dancing, I envisioned a place inside this energetic city, ours: a classic townhouse on a steep street with expansive views of the Pacific, the magenta siding sun-faded—a third-story perch, thick platinum haze embracing our new home.”
― Aspen Matis, Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir

“Thank you for showing me you were worth knowing”
― Eliah Greenwood, Forgotten Rules

“Benjamin could no longer comprehend anything, not even his own confusion, as it enveloped him in a disorienting haze.”
― Ryan Gelpke, We Tragic Few

“To discern beyond the veiled haze,
one must traverse its ethereal embrace.”
― Monika Ajay Kaul