Quotes About Sky

When I was a child, my grandmother told me that the sky speaks to those who look and listen to it. She said, In the sky there are always answers and explanations for everything: every pain, every suffering, joy, and confusion. That night I wanted the sky to talk to me.

That enfabled rock, that ship of life, that swarming, million-footed, tower-masted, sky-soaring citadel that bears the magic name of the Island of Manhattan.

Each time I leaped I seemed to touch the sky and when I regained earth it seemed to be mine alone.

Too low they build, who build beneath the stars.

Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie.

Twilight drops her curtain down, and pins it with a star.

Nature is God's workshop. The sky is his resume. The universe is his calling card. You want to know who God is? See what he has done.

All through the night, men looked at the sky and were saddened by the stars.

I did not look about me, though sometimes I glanced up into the great bowl of the night sky and at the constellations scattered there and the sight was comforting and calming to me, things in the heavens seemed still to be aright and unchanged. But nothing else was, within me or all around. I knew now that I had entered some hitherto unimagined - indeed, unbelieved-in - realm of consciousness, that coming to this place had already changed me and that there was no going back.

I had no idea the gap between earth and heaven is narrow, no wider than a jump over a brook. I'd always thought heaven was so far from the living, no one could measure its distance from earth. Even the wisest person ever born couldn't look up at the night sky through the most powerful telescope and catch a glimpse of heaven, it was that far off.

And they are lovely, the turbines, better than power lines, particularly when the sky is blue. Sometimes I do stare at them. The blades look like ballerina's legs, but all calves and no feet, like ballerina's legs but with the feet chopped off at the ankle, like a German fairy tale.

I think of your wind chime brain the low hanging indifferent sky a frame for loneliness just beginning— — Susan Rich, from "The Lost Thing," diode (vol. 13, no. 3, Fall 2020)

The ones I loved fly as birds in the open sky above me. Soaring, weaving, calling to me to join them. I want so badly to follow them, but the seawater saturates my wings, making it impossible to lift them. The ones I hated have taken to the water, horrible scaled things that tear my salty flesh with needle teeth. Biting again and again. Dragging me beneath the surface.

I find myself focusing up at the sky — the only roof left — because too many memories are drowning me.

The mast of a boat, a silver parachute, Mags laughing, a pink sky, Beetee's trident, Annie in her wedding dress, waves breaking over rocks. Then it's over.

I kept hearing in my head all the way that beautiful word "confluence"—"the confluence of the waters"—everything the eyes could see was like the word happening. I don't remember that there were any houses or roads or people anywhere, just treetops and water and distance and sky and birds and confluence. It may not be so rare but I thought so then and I do now—it's all so rarely the blessing falls.

I was sure that somewhere a grandiose carnival was going on in the sky, and I was missing it.

Without butterflies, the world would soon have few flowers. There is enough room in the sky for all flyers.

The sky is the source of light in nature - and governs everything.

The sky cries for those filled with sadness

Have confidence. Like the first spark of morning light against the entire night sky recognize the Power and Brilliance within you.

I look into his sorrowless eyes and a door in my heart blows open. And when we kiss, i see that on the other side of that door is sky.

A star-spangled sky and you were looking the other way, the night beckoned and waited and you waited for the day.

You see those stars, which shines at night when the sky darkens it shines for you when your heart is blackened