Quotes About Sky

He lifted his eyes. They were the color of the deepest heart of hurricane clouds, deeper blue than the sky behind him.

The sky is a living thing when one is a desert dweller, stretched out, vast and imposing, with its constant dance of cloud and color, the visual equivalent of a movie soundtrack to one's life.

Shooting stars are not really stars at all but meteorites, burning their way through our atmosphere, sometimes landing in the oceans and in the middle of farms...you could make wishes on them if you like, but they are really just pieces of rock falling down from the sky, and they could land on your head and kill you just as you look up to make a wish. Really, they're just rocks. They don't care about your wishes at all.

It was his favorite part of the afternoon, or should have been: the sun bright and hot in the sky, the plants twitching their green fingers.

can change the experience of a Tuesday, as you stare out at the summer sky, the stars, and the fireflies punctuating the darkness like little adventures can punctuate time.

When God made His covenant with Abraham, He promised that He would "make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky." Jesus is the needle who sews the children of God who are not direct descendants of Abraham into that nighttime sky.

OH THAT I COULD GO TO THE SKY WHERE I MIGHT FIND A CLEAR KNOWING.

Inside the valley, the fragrance of orchids still hung in the air, although they were no longer in bloom. A patch of star-scattered sky lent a bluey sheen to the dark of the grassy space.

streets of his neighborhood, his dog, Zeke, trotting right beside him. He was studying an arrow-shaped cloud in the bright blue sky when squealing shouts echoed from just ahead. "Dexter! Dexter! Buy some lemonade!" Two identical blond heads bounced up over a rosebush. It was the little Tucker twins, Stephanie and Bobbie.

In June we picked the clover, And sea-shells in July: There was no silence at the door, No word from the sky. A hand came out of August And flicked his life away: We had not time to bargain, mope, Moralize, or pray.

It seems inappropriate for the light to be so bright, for the sky to be so blue, and he's relieved when a cloud drifts over the sun and the water turns from silver to gray.

up there: nothing but stars.

The desire to reach for the sky runs deep in our human psyche.

Ti ride negli occhi la stranezza di un cielo che non è il tuo.

You are like a cloud Glimpsed between the branches. In your eyes there shines The strangeness of a sky that isn't yours.

The villages he'd played in were all around us, bright and leafy in the sunshine, nests of stars in the night sky.

Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things: air, sleep, dreams, sea, and the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it." – Cesare Pavese

He stopped and leaned against a pole and looked up at the deaf and swollen sky. It was a movement of dark shapes, a hurrying, a running. He closed his eyes. ("Hunger")

He took a deep drag and looked up into the cold night sky and saw a sea of stars above him. He knew nothing about constellations or astronomy, but he enjoyed the beautiful sight. In Paris, he had never even noticed the night sky, but out in the country it was immense, almost drawing you up into the heavens. One couldn't help but be awed by the sight. As he smoked, he continued to stare at the sky, marveling at the vast number and configurations of stars.

Above the sky, everything is beautiful, but alone. (Au-dessus du ciel, Tout est beau, mais seul)

Before falling to the ground, the rain has touched the sky. (Avant de tomber au sol, La pluie a touché le ciel)

[I]t seemed as if the streets were absorbed by the sky, and the night were all in the air.

And a beautiful world we live in, when it is possible, and when many other such things are possible, and not only possible, but done-- done, see you!-- under that sky there, every day.

Fog everywhere. Fog up the river where it flows among green airs and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city.... Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.