Quotes About Sky

La eternidad profunda sonreía en tus ojos...Oh antorchas del mundo, en el cielo encendeos.

God? Come off it, the heavens are empty, as empty as a corpse. There's nothing in the sky but shells and all the other murderous devices made by men . . .

The sun is gone; but the Day—still bending over the mountains, loosens a last flower from her plait. And the sky seems now a higher and holier thing.

Complete waste," she said. "Sorry, Sam. The universe tortured you because it could, because it will. The enormous polyhedral die in the sky was rolled, and it came up 'Torture Sam Masur.

La libertad no es un derecho del hombre que concede el cielo, y la libertad de soñar tampoco se adquiere desde el nacimiento: es una capacidad que hay que preservar, una conciencia, sobre todo porque las pesadillas no paran de perturbarla.

But racing in the rain is also about the mind! It is about owning one's own body. About believing that one's car is merely an extension of one's body. About believing that the track is an extension of the car, and the rain is an extension of the track, and the sky is an extension of the rain. It is about believing that you are not you; you are everything. And everything is you.

And she glowed with light like the brightest planet in the darkest sky.

It was a Saturday that you somehow knew was going to be one of the last beautiful days of fall. The sun was shining hot, like it thought it was still July, and November drizzles were a whole season away. The sky was blue and a few white clouds were easing themselves along like they didn't care. The grass was warm and sweet, like April, but the trees hadn't forgotten it was October. They were all on fire, and behind their leaves, the birds were singing their last songs.

We all love conflagrations. When the sky changes color, it is a dead man's passing.

That was the day the ancient songs of blood and war spilled from a hole in the sky And there was a long moment as we listened and fell silent in our grief and then one by one, we stood tall and came together and began to sing of life and love and all that is good and true And I will never forget that day when the ancient songs died because there was no one in the world to sing them.

Marco smiles, they shake hands, and Robert Blackfeather Sherman sees it again, as he did when Marco knelt before him just a few minutes ago: The light warps around Marco Angelo Oliveira; the colors of the trees and sky stretch and smear, as if Marco is an empty place in the shape of a man and the earth and air around him are screaming to fill it.

I have long thought that anyone who does not regularly - or ever - gaze up and see the wonder and glory of a dark night sky filled with countless stars loses a sense of their fundamental connectedness to the universe

From the ship they saw a giant dancing naked on the shore, 'dancing and leaping and singing, and, while singing, throwing sand and dust on his head'. As the white men approached, he raised one finger to the sky, questioning whether they had come from heaven.

On that night the sky laid bare its internal construction in many sections which, like quasi-anatomical exhibits, showed the spirals and whorls of light, the pale-green solids of darkness, the plasma of space, the tissue of dreams.

I harbored in my mind a sort of utopia about 'an age of genius' that supposedly existed in my life once upon a time, not in any calendar year but on a level above chronology, an age when everything blazed with godly colors and one took in the whole sky with a single breath, like a gulp of pure ultramarine.

Now, in that Japanese sea, the days in summer are as freshets of effulgences. That unblinkingly vivid Japanese sun seems the blazing focus of the glassy ocean's immeasurable burning-glass. The sky looks lacquered; clouds there are none; the horizon floats; and this nakedness of unrelieved radiance is as the insufferable splendors of God's throne.

But it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky; and the airs smells now, as if it blew from a far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the new-mown hay. Sleeping?

whale.The vast white headless phantom floats further and further from the ship, and every rod that it so floats, what seem square roods of sharks and cubic roods of fowls, augment the murderous din. For hours and hours from the almost stationary ship that hideous sight is seen. Beneath the unclouded and mild azure sky, upon the fair face of the pleasant sea, wafted by the joyous breezes, that great mass of death floats on and on, till lost in infinite perspectives.

Under a sky that hasn't been blue for weeks.

their aggression reaches330 the iron sky.

Algo me incitaba a buscar en el cielo algunas nubes, ya que se había apoderado de mí una inexplicable aprensión acerca de los infinitos e insondables espacios etéreos.

vio un globo anaranjado volando libremente por el ancho cielo en dirección al río y vio cómo todos los ojos que miraban el globo tenían en ese momento cinco años

Yeah, right. I think I'd like to get up there at night, all alone—with a head full of mescaline, just roll around in the sky like a big Condor….

You can see the northern lights, he said. They're burning down upon us like a river of melted stars.