Quotes About Moon

Lake Insanity lay broad and strange before them, a still reflecting pool for the frightened, confused moon.

I don't think there is much value in trying to use the moon as a base to go to Mars. That's going into one gravity belt and having to get back out of it again. And the moon doesn't have a lot to offer as a resource base.

Look at the moon! How strange the moon seems! She is like a woman rising from a tomb. She is like a dead woman. You would fancy she was looking for dead things.

Con libertad, libros, flores y la luna, ¿quién no puede ser feliz?

For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey

My Salome is a mystic the sister of Salammbô a Saint Thérèse who worships the moon.

How good to see the moon! She is like a little piece of money. You would think she was a little silver flower. The moon is cold and chaste. I am sure she is a virgin, she has a virgin's beauty. Yes, she is a virgin. She has never defiled herself. She has never abandoned herself to men, like the other goddesses.

Look at the moon. How strange the moon seems! She is like a woman rising from a tomb. She is like a dead woman. One might fancy she was looking for dead things.

But he never fell into the error of arresting his intellectual development by any formal acceptance of creed or system, or of mistaking, for a house in which to live, an inn that is but suitable for the sojourn of the night, or for a few hours of a night in which there are no stars and the moon is in travail.

They glided past, they glided fast, Like travellers through a mist: They mocked the moon in a rigadoon Of delicate turn and twist, And with formal pace and loathsome grace The phantoms kept their tryst

She made up prayers and said them, Worshipping unknown gods with unknown singing, Her customary magic, which would cover The white moon's face and darken the sun with cloud.

Aunt Agatha is my tough aunt, the one who eats broken bottles and conducts human sacrifices by the light of the full moon.

Your eyes have the colour of the moon

It is not so much light that falls over the world extended by your body its suffocating snow, as brightness, pouring itself out of you, as if you were burning inside. Under your skin the moon is alive.

Por eso tengo que volver a tantos sitios veneridos para encontrarme conmigo y examinarme sin cesar sin testigo que la luna, y luego silbar de alegria pisando piedras y terrones sin tarea que existir sin familia que el camino

I repeated: come with me, as if I were dying, and no one saw in my mouth the moon that was bleeding, no one saw the blood that was rising into the silence. Oh love, now let us forget the star with thorns!

Of so much moon were your hips to me, of all the sun your deep mouth and its delight, of so much burning light like honey in the shade

Full woman, fleshly apple, hot moon, thick smell of seaweed, crushed mud and light, what obscure brilliance opens between your columns? What ancient night does a man touch with his senses? Loving is a journey with water and with stars, with smothered air and abrupt storms of flour: loving is a clash of lightning-bolts and two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.

Under your skin the moon is alive.

They lie those that say I lost the moon, those that prophesized my fate of sand, they assert so many things with cold tongues: they wish to ban the flower of the universe.

No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go, we will go together, over the waters of time. No one else will travel through the shadows with me, only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.

Under your ski the moon is alive.

The moon turns its clockwork dream. The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. And as I love you, the pines in the wind want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

Seek truth in meditation, not in moldy books. Look in the sky to find the moon, not in the pond."— Persian proverb.