Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
The Tempest, 1. 1

I would fain die a dry death.
The Tempest, 1. 1

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!
Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!

Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness.
King Lear, 3. 2

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe’er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these?
King Lear, 3. 4

Why, now blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark! The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.
Julius Caesar, 5.1

O Cicero, I have seen tempests when the scolding winds
Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen
Th’ ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam
To be exalted with the threat’ning clouds;
But never till to-night, never till now,
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.
Julius Caesar, 1.3

(My deepest sympathies to those who lost loved ones in the bus fire on I-45 this morning.)