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Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.

We have been travelling through a cloud. The sky has been dark ever since the war began.

Clouds do not really look like camels or sailing ships or castles in the sky. They are simply a natural process at work. So too, perhaps, are our lives.

Sometimes, I wake up and the skies are grey and everything's horrible.

Gray hairs seem to my fancy like the soft light of the moon, silvering over the evening of life.

There's a bright spot in every dark cloud.

Everything in life is gray, you know.

There is no cloud above my head - there is not even a mist.

I believe that if one always looked at the skies, one would end up with wings.