Quotes About Sky

Rain they take as a personal affront, shaking their heads and commiserating with each other in the cafés, looking with profound suspicion at the sky as though a plague of locusts is about to descend, and picking their way with distaste through the puddles on the pavement.

To these he added two 'intermediate modifications': cirro-cumulus and cirro-stratus; and two compound modifications: cumulo-stratus and cumulo-cirro-stratus. This final modification was more colloquially known as the nimbus or rain cloud. From

Feelings pass like clouds but love endures like the sky.

Stars, everywhere. So many stars that I could not for the life me understand how the sky could contain them all yet be so black.

Or you could just blow Castle Wulfenbach out of the sky." Othar clapped his hands in delight. "An excellent suggestion, young apprentice!" Tarvek ignored this. "Except, of course, that Gil is still up there." "Even better," Othar declared. Tarvek briefly considered this, then reluctantly admitted, "But he still has my notes.

The sky is white as clay, with no sun. Work has to be done. Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

the river sliding along its banks, darker now than the sky descending a last time to scatter its diamonds into these black waters that contain the day that passed, the night to come. — Excerpt from the poem "The Mercy

Dis Papa, c'est quoi le ciel? Un espace sans ligne ni partage Une grande rêverie une nuite pleine de jour Qui n'a ni fin ni soif

Je me suis installé dans le jardin. Comme le ciel n'est pas tout à fait noir, je vois des oiseaux traverser l'étendue grise-dessus des arbres, en un long vol, puissant et formidable, et il me semble les sentir glisser à la surface de mes yeux.

The essential thing is to etch movements in the sky, movements so still they leave no trace. The essential thing is simplicity. / That is why the long path to perfection is horizontal.

As I grew older, I frequently turned to the sky for comfort, and being reminded of my slight significance within the context of the vast and enigmatic universe, I was comforted.

La luna era ormai alta alta nel cielo, s'era rimpicciolita e pareva non volesse più aver che fare col mondo, tutta assorta nella contemplazione di quello che ci stava al di là. Al mondo, pareva che ormai mostrasse solo il sedere; e, da quel sederino d'argento, pioveva giù una luce grandiosa, che invadeva tutto.

Sopra i tetti delle case si vedevano striscioni di nubi, sfregati e pestati dal vento, che, lassù, doveva soffiare libero come aveva soffiato al principio del mondo.

Da una parte il cielo era tutto schiarito, e vi brillavano certe stellucce umide, sperdute nella sua grandezza, come in una sconfinata parete di metallo, da dove, sulla terra, venisse a cadere qualche misero soffio di vento.

Passivo come un uccello che vede tutto, volando, e si porta in cuore nel volo in cielo la coscienza che non perdona.

I really feel like the sky is the limit. I'm a dreamer, and I dream in full vivid color HD.

He wonders how so much water can resist the pull of so much gravity for the time it takes such pregnant clouds to form, he wonders about the moment the rain begins, the turn from forming to falling, that slight silent pause in the physics of the sky as the critical mass is reached, the hesitation before the first swollen drop hurtles fatly and effortlessly to the ground.

The only clouds are pale and thin, hung as high as they can manage, like cobwebs in the high arches of a stairwell, and the sky is a freshly scrubbed blue, as permanent-looking as the first day of the holidays.

Sometimes happiness is like the sound of a plane overhead. You look up to see it but the plane's not there. No matter where you look you can't find it on the sky, although the sound is still there and growing louder. You get a little frantic searching. At the same time you're thinking, this is stupid. But you keep looking and if you do finally see it, you feel absolved. Most of my life I'd been looking for happiness in the wrong parts of the sky.

Surely there is something in the unruffled calm of nature that overawes our little anxieties and doubts; the sight of the deep-blue sky and the clustering stars above seems to impart a quiet to the mind.

Over the balustrade I could see the dark trees of Webster Groves and the more distant TV-tower lights that marked the boundaries of my childhood. A night wind coming across the football practice field carried the smell of thawed winter earth, the great sorrowful world-smell of being alive beneath a sky.

It didn't feel so bad to be an orphan. It felt like the first day of a long vacation, a day as empty as the January sky was clear and sunny.

El sol bajo, en el cielo: luminaria menor, estrella enfriándose. Ráfagas de desorden, sucesivas. Árboles inquietos, temperaturas en descenso

And the posture of the older oak trees reaching toward this sky had a jut, a wildness and entitlement, predating permanent settlement; memories of an unfenced world were written in the cursive of their branches.