Quotes About Moon

In the dark of the moon there is growth. Plants do not flourish in the noonday sun, but rather in the privacy of the new moon

The original reality of Amitabha is our own Dharma body, It shines out brightly everywhere, in the South, North, East, and West, It is like the autumn moon that lies in the high, vast sky, In the silence of the night its brilliance shines far over the ocean.

A finger pointing at the moon is not the moon.

So"--he gestured impatiently--"when will you marry him?" "Who?" She seethed, plucking at the folds of her gown. Clouds passed over the moon, momentarily obscuring him from her view. His eerily disembodied voice was mildly reproaching. "Try to follow the conversation, lass. Quinn." "By Odin's shaft--" "Spear," he corrected with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Sawtooth slumps into his deck chair and stares up at the sky. It's a drunken sky, the stars hiccupping light. Great gusty clouds go spinning past the moon. The bright planets feel like pinpricks to Sawtooth's old eyes.

The lake water was reinventing the forest and the white moon above it, and wolves lapped up the cold reflection of the sky.

Overhead, the clouds stretch across the sky like some monstrous spiderweb, dewed with stars. Tiny planes from the Mainland whir towards the yellow moon, only to become cobwebbed by cloud.

Sentimental irony is a dog that bays at the moon while pissing on graves.

My stage projection's a puppet; I could moon the crowd and the projectors would compensate and make it look like I'd bowed.

Es ist interessanter, einen Apfel auf dem Mond zu finden als einen Mondstein.

The moon, the earth's silent, smaller sister, pulled together out of dust and rock into this magical silver companion.

The crush of it. So this is it. Love swallowed by mistake or circumstance. Romance and the moon conspired to make a summer fool of me.

Molly watched the pale water, changing, always changing, and always the same, and she could feel him near, not touching, not speaking. Thin clouds chased across the face of the swelling moon. Soon it would be full, the harvest moon, the end of Indian summer. The moon was so cleanly outlined, so unambiguous, she thought. A misshapen bowl, like an artifact made by inexpert hands that would improve with practice.

There were such sounds as are not heard in daylight—moon sounds and cloud sounds and sounds of dark wind; branches talked and other small voices answered in anxious undertones.

A cosmic philosophy is not constructed to fit a man; a cosmic philosophy is constructed to fit a cosmos. A man can no more possess a private religion than he can possess a private sun and moon.

At night I dream of snakes; vipers, of different colors Your face looks at me I am anti-social; cannot participate This is my stigma; inscribed as a snakebite I bear the crescent moon I also bear you, beloved As my living sign

if people ask for directions I point to the gibbous moon when asked how I am I smile the cusp of an eclipse

O little sliver of moon waning that shines on waves desolately reigning, O little sliver of silver, what mass of dreams swells here towards your gentle glow! Fleeting breaths of foliage, sighs of flowers from the woods exhale to the sea: no song, no cry, no sound pierces the vast silence. Oppressed by love, by pleasure, the world of the living falls asleep… O little sliver waning, what mass of dreams swells here towards your gentle glow! (Trans. Michael Shindler)

It was like a Stygian plain, like a vision of Hades: a land of shadows, vapours and water. Everything was going misty and disappearing like spirits. The moon was enchanting and pulling at the plain just as she enchants and pulls at the sea, drinking all that vast earthly dampness from the horizon with her silent, insatiable throat.

It is a beautiful and delightful sight to behold the body of the Moon.

Rose, the moon is incredible. Everything down on Earth relies on it. Rats jump for it. Tides rush out from it. Humans kiss under it. Without it there'd be nothing down there worth the light. And that just happened by chance -trillions of odd against it- one bit of stardust meets another bit of dust.

The full moon rises. The fog clings to the lowest branches of the spruce trees. The man steps out of the darkest corner of the forest and finds himself transformed into... A monkey? I think not.

Standing on the roof at night, beside the golden ship I look across the city and I dream a wild trip. The waves are high, the wind is strong, the moon is white and full. I smell the salt upon the sea, a strong magnetic pull. I shout into the endless dark, awaiting the reply: 'Away! Away' It says: 'Away! Now spread your wings and fly.

He inhaled deeply, felt some vestige of strength returning to him, the moon's rays, the stars, and forest air all like food for his starving soul.