Quotes About Stars

Dreams and restless thoughts came flowing to him from the river, from the twinkling stars at night, from the sun's melting rays. Dreams and a restlessness of the soul came to him.

A dreamer is a gifted man, who, plucks out his dreams of sparkling stars.

Stars are much further away from where they are now for those who have no dreams and no intentions to reach them!

I see the same sky above me, the same stars and moon, but nothing will ever be the same for me, because I love you." Whoever said love was grand evidently had never been in love.

You want your film to be seen by the largest audience and stars help in facilitating that. Star-power does work.

The simple, sweet films without the star power often manage to tell a better story.

I could cut a star out of paper and drop it.

One of the stars came unstuck from the firmament and darted in a white streak down the sky...Michael was stalking the star with soft steps, both arms out to catch it.

I will honor all life —wherever and in whatever form it may dwell—on Earth my home, and in the mansions of the stars.

thanks to mommy and match-box cars, thanks for dad and to the stars.

Behind me, his bedroom light went out, brightening the sky, and how queer it seemed, half the heavens coming nearer, all those incandescent masses increasing in number, the stars and constellations, because somebody turns off a light in a house in the desert...

In time I let my head ease back on the top step and I closed my eyes. I was moving into the biblical phase of the afternoon, the peak of my new simplicity. A verity less than eternal had little appeal. I prepared myself to think of night, desert, sorrowful forests, of the moon, the stars, the west wind, baptismal mist and the rich myrrh of harvested earth. Instead I thought of tits.

i am perfect because i am inseparable from the infinite, the force of life that creates the stars and the entire universe of light. i am God's creation. i don't need to be what i am not.

He looked at the stars again, and he realized that it's not the stars that create light, but rather light that creates the stars.

There is something beautiful about a billion stars held steady by a God who knows what He is doing. (They hang there, the stars, like notes on a page of music, free-form verse, silent mysteries swirling in the blue like jazz.) And as I lay there, it occurred to me that God is up there somewhere.

There is something beautiful about a billion stars held steady by a God who knows what He is doing. (They hang there, the stars, like notes on a page of music, free-form verse, silent mysteries swirling in the blue like jazz.)

I lay there under the stars and thought of what a great responsibility it is to be human.

And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the sky - so the space where I exist, and I want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.

And the nights, bigger than imagining: black and gusty and enormous, disordered and wild with stars.

It was a clear, black morning, encrusted with stars.

Lyra, Cassiopeia the queen, whiplash Scorpius with the twin stings in his tail, all the friendly childhood patterns that had twinkled me to sleep from the glow-in-the-dark planetarium stars on my bedroom ceiling back in New York. Now, transfigured - cold and glorious like deities with their disguises flung off - it was as if they'd flown through the roof and into the sky to assume their true, celestial homes.

What are the dead, anyway, but waves and energy? Light shining from a dead star?

And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of colour across the sky - so the space where I exist, and want to keep existing, and to be quiet frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.

it was a clear night, with crickets and a million stars