Quotes About Moon

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating. Both of you are great light borrowers. Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected, And your first gift is making stone out of everything.

The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here. --from The Moon and the Yew Tree, written 22 October 1961

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering Blue and mystical over the face of the stars Inside the church, the saints will all be blue, Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews, Their hands and faces stiff with holiness. The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild. And the message of the yew tree is blackness - blackness and silence.

She has folded Them back into her body as petals Of a rose close when the garden Stiffens and odours bleed From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower. The moon has nothing to be sad about, Staring from her hood of bone.

My head a moon Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.

The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me Cruelly, being barren. Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.

Their hands and faces stiff with holiness. The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild. And the message of the yew tree is blackness--blackness and silence.

There was no absence of lips, there were two children, But their bones showed, and the moon smiled.

The moon has nothing to be sad about, Staring from her hood of bone. She is used to this type of thing. Her blacks crackle and drag.

The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. Sylvia Plath, Ariel; from 'The Moon and the Yew Tree

And they have condemned you for being mad. Just like that. Because the fear is already there, and has been for so long. The fear that all the edges and shapes and colors of the real world that have been built up again so painfully with such a real love can dwindle in a moment of doubt, and "suddenly go out" the way the moon would in the Blake poem.

Jellicle Cats are black and white Jellicle Cats are rather small Jellicle Cats are merry and bright And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul. Jellicle Cats have cheerful faces, Jellicle Cats have bright black eyes; They like to practise their airs and graces And wait for the Jellicle Moon to rise.

O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter / And on her daughter / They wash their feet in soda water.

I started the motor, let it idle for a minute. Then I pointed the nose toward St. Pete and Coquina Key. It was a little after 11:00 when I rolled down the boulevard on the island. A huge moon bathed Coquina Key in silver light. White surf broke against the beach, and out in the water, moon lays lay in a great

Many solemn nights Blond moon, we stand and marvel... Sleeping our noons away

Go, then! Go to the moon-you selfish dreamer!

Through the snowy silver maple trees, he could see the gray stone stronghold of St. Alban's. She was in there, behind one of the diamond-paned windows, a block away and as far out of reach as the moon. On his CD player, Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks was crooning, Without you, I'm not okay, and without you, I've lost my way… If he lived through this mess, he was never listening to country music again.

Since childhood, I had always been affected by the changes of the moon, sometimes very much so. As the light of the satellite fell on my face my mind cleared, and I knew what was to be done. ("Absolute Evil")

Are you wondering, like I am, why all the stars have disappeared?" Every nerve in her body quivered with excitement. "They haven't exactly disappeared," she said, lowering her gaze. "They're merely hiding." Martin came to stand beside her. He looked up, too. "The moon is hiding as well. But look, there it is. Oops, gone again." She could not help but laugh. "Those shifty stratocumuli.

Man has reached the moon, but twenty centuries ago a poet knew the enchantments that would make the moon come down to earth.

oír el fragor de la luna apoyando contra su oreja la palma de una pequeña mano un poco húmeda por el amor o por una taza de té.

y yo te siento temblar contra mí como una luna en el agua.

Pronto llegó noviembre con su pálido aliento de lunas y hojas muertas.