Quotes About Sky

We think a flower on a cliff is beautiful Because we stop our feet at the cliff's edge Unable to step out into the sky Like that fearless flower --Sosuke Aizen,Flower on the Precipice

I can see! So this is the sky! So this is blood! So this is the world! So this is what you look like, Komamura. You are uglier than I thought. -Kaname Tousen (I'm sorry to say but this quote had me laughing so much XD)

if i were rain, that join sky and earth that otherwise never touch, could i join two hearths as well?

Pinned under the air that grates like a claw Every time I look up to the sky I learn that I am trapped in this world If only that sky would crumble and fall I could fly to anywhere

Goodbye…warrior of the sky. Promise me…that you'll never forgive me.

We reach out with our hands Brush away the clouds and pirce the sky To grab the moon and mars But we still can't reach the truth

It was a good day for a parade, sunny and unseasonably warm, the sky a Sunday school cartoon of heaven.

The sky was the color of Edgar Allen Poe's pajamas.

The full moon - the mandala of the sky.

There are landscapes in which we feel above us not sky but space. Something larger, deeper than sky is sensed, is seen, although in such settings the sky itself is invariably immense. There is a place between the cerebrum and the stars where sky stops and space commences, and should we find ourselves on a particular prairie or mountaintop at a particular hour, our relationship with sky thins and loosens while our connection to space becomes solid as bone.

It had been reported that Tanuki fell from the sky using his scrotum as a parachute.

A few flat clouds folded themselves like crepes over fillings of apricot sky. Pompadours of supper-time smoke billowed from chimneys, separating into girlish pigtails as the breeze combed them out, above the slate rooftops. Chestnut blossoms, weary from having been admired all day, wore faint smiles of anticipation.

The moon can't help it. It's only a fat dumb object, the pumpkin of the sky. The moon's a mess, to tell the truth. A burnt-out cinder the color of dishwater; a stale gray cookie covered with scars. Every loose rock in our solar system has taken a punch at it. It's been scorched, golf-clubbed, and inflicted with boils. If lovers have chosen this brutalized derelict, this tortured dustball, this pitted and pimpled parcel of wasteland as the repository of their dreams, the moon can't help it.

The sky was a velvety black paw pressing on the white landscape with a feline delicacy, stars flying like sparks from its fur.

The Ides of March. A sky-lidded night plain. A star-loaded sky. A moon without a pond to primp in. A wind without a leaf to tease. A nighthawk without a wire to rest on. A couple without a corner to turn. Her sandals, his wheels, made a popcorn-eating sound in the sand.

The sky is as gruff as a Chinese waiter. It keeps slamming the silverware against the horizon.

the City is what they want it to be: thriftless, warm, scary and full of amiable strangers. No wonder they forget pebbly creeks and when they do not forget the sky completely think of it as a tiny piece of information about the time of day or night.

The sky above them was another country. Winter stars, close enough to lick, had come out before sunset. For a moment, looking up, Sethe entered the perfect peace they offered.

Sky provided the only drama, and counting on a Cincinnati horizon for life's principal joy was reckless indeed.

Sky provided the only drama, and counting on a Cincinnati horizon for life's principal joy was reckless indeed. So

You know how a star is supposed to twinkle? We say twinkle because that is how it looks, but when a star feels itself, it's not a twinkle, it's more like a throb. Star throbs. Over and over and over. Like this. Stars just throb and throb and throb and sometimes, when they can't throb anymore, when they can't hold it anymore, they fall out of the sky.

Hung be the Heavens in Scarlet

The color has faded out of the sky. It is grey, becoming darker as the world turns herself round a little more. The clouds are long and black and ragged, like the wings of stormbattered dragons.

At that moment there came a fast, unrepeatable grass-green flash before the gold and rose of sunrise coloured the sky. Phryne blew the sun a kiss, and returned to her cabin.