Quotes About Moonrise

What sort of noise does a balloon make, adrift? None. No, not quite. It noises itself, it soughs, like the wind billowing your curtains all white as breaths of foam. Or it makes a sound like the stars turning over in your sleep. Or it announces itself like moonrise and moonset. That last is best: like the moon sailing the universal deeps, so rides a balloon.

Tank crews showed little sense of urgency—"Everybody appeared to treat the disabled tanks with the same kind of warm-hearted affection an old-time cavalryman might lavish on his horse," the Army's official history acknowledged. Not until 2:30 A.M. on Sunday, November 5, just before moonrise, were the stalled Shermans finally shoved over the brink into the gorge.

I'm never tired of finding out what a moonrise can be over them rocks and sea and harbor. There's a surprise in it every time.

A sleeping man would miss the best of the evening, and the moonrise as well.

She wanted summer; fields of daisies; seas misty with moonrise or purple with sunset; companionship; Teddy. In such moments she always knew she wanted Teddy.

It's a lifelong failing: she has never been prepared. But how can you have a sense of wonder if you're prepared for everything? Prepared for the sunset. Prepared for the moonrise. Prepared for the ice storm. What a flat existence that would be.

It's a lifelong failing: she has never been prepared. But how can you have a sense of wonder if you're prepared for everything? Prepared for the sunset. Prepared for the moonrise. Prepared for the ice storm. What a flat existence that would be.

THE PROPHECIES BEGIN Book One: Into the Wild Book Two: Fire and Ice Book Three: Forest of Secrets Book Four: Rising Storm Book Five: A Dangerous Path Book Six: The Darkest Hour THE NEW PROPHECY Book One: Midnight Book Two: Moonrise Book Three: Dawn Book Four: Starlight Book Five:

This is the only time you can study both of your shadows. If you sit perfectly still and watch your primary shadow as the sun sets you will be able to hold it long enough to see your other shadow fill up when the moon rises like a porcelain basin with clear water. If you turn carefully to face the south you may regard both of them: to understand the nature of silence you must be able to see into this space between your shadows.

Still, I mustn't grumble: I have more friends than enemies and there are moments when I am almost glad to be alive — when I watch the sun set and the moon rise, or see snow on mountain tops.

I study her visage, the fluted snow fields and couloirs of ice scoured by avalanches. Horizontal bands of rock curve downward, as if bearing the weight of the sky. Her summit is like a fulcrum on which the heavens lean, balancing the setting sun and rising moon.

Only I and the sunset In the snow-valley of your breast And the slow shadows of the motion of your breath, Only I and moonrise in the valley of your breast And the dark of sleep ... Until lilies in the valley have opened, And I am awake with petals And with the birds of your voice.

AT AN HOUR BEFORE MOONRISE THEY GATHERED. Branna lit the ritual candles, tossed ground crystals into the fire so its smoke rose pale and pure blue. She took up a silver cup that had come down to her, stepped into the circle they formed. "This we drink, one cup for six, from hand to hand and mouth to mouth to fix with wine our unity.

It's not just a sunset; it's a moonrise too.

Moonrise is a fabulous novel and my damn wife wrote it and that's me up there near Highlands shouting it out to the hills.

Life is an immense dream. Why toil? All day long I drowse with wine, And lie by the post at the front door. Awakening, I gaze upon the garden trees, And, hark, a bird is singing among the flowers. Pray, what season may this be? Ah, the songster's a mango-bird, Singing to the passing wind of spring. I muse and muse myself to sadness, Once more I pour my wine, and singing aloud, Await the bright moonrise. My song is ended-- What troubled my soul?--I remember not.

Moonrise," I told him, then turned on my heel and walked quickly from the alley, although my sock feet on the gravel, combined with my limp, probably spoiled the badass image.

The light was leaving in the west it was blue The children's laughter sang and skipping just like the stones they threw the voices echoed across the way its getting late It was just another night with the sun set and the moon rise not so far behind to give us just enough light to lay down underneath the stars listen to papas translations of the stories across the sky we drew our own constellations

Scattered with poppies, the golden-green waves of the cornfields faded. The red sun seemed to tip one end of a pair of scales below the horizon, and simultaneously to lift an orange moon at the other. Only two days off the full, it rose behind a wood, swiftly losing its flush as it floated up, until the wheat loomed out of the twilight like a metallic and prickly sea.

Because we don't know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens a certain number of times, and a very small number, really...How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.