Quotes About Sky

In those days the planes had propellers and couldn't make the trip nonstop and, worst of all, traveled through the sky.

The moon was a sharply defined crescent and the sky was perfectly clear. The stars shone with such fierce, contained brilliance that it seemed absurd to call the night dark.

The sun was beginning to pull the curtains on the day.

Look north. Achilles on the rampart by the ditch: He lifts his face to 90; draws his breath; And from the bottom of his heart emits So long and loud and terrible a scream, The icy scabs at either end of earth Winced in their sleep; and in the heads that fought It seemed as if, and through his voice alone, The whole world's woe could be abandoned to the sky. An in that instant all the fighting glassed.

And of all man's felicities The very subtlest one, say I, Is when for the first time he sees His hearthfire smoke against the sky.

Overhead the night was a superb arch of clear frost, sifted with stars.

I stood alone beneath the stars and shouted to the heavens at the top of my lungs and what was so beautiful was the way the stars shined when the sky swallowed your name.

Later, I realized that the mission had to end in a let-down because the real barrier wasn't in the sky but in our knowledge and experience of supersonic flight.

Meanwhile, the clouds are white and the sky is blue. Why is there so much God? At the expense of men.

In the sky, through the window, white clouds were coming undone, running loose from the calm blue.

What would a person say to himself in the madness of sincerity? But it would be salvation. Thought the terror of sincerity comes from the part of the shadows that connect me to the world and to the creating unconscious of the world. Today is a night with many stars in the sky. It stopped raining.

Meanwhile the clouds are white and the sky is all blue. Why so much God. Why not a little for men.

The sun, having set not too long ago, left a purplish stain on the sky.

Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening.

There, about a dozen times during the day, the wind drives over the sky the swollen clouds, which water the earth copiously, after which the sun shines brightly, as if freshly bathed, and floods with a golden luster the rocks, the river, the trees, and the entire jungle.

It was morning through the high window I saw the pure, bright blue of the sky as it hovered cheerfully over the long roofs of the neighboring houses. It too seemed full of joy, as if it had special plans, and had put on its finest clothes for the occasion.

Let me look into a human eye; it is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God.

Humanity looked in awe upon the beauty and the everlasting duration of creation. The exquisite sky flooded with sunlight. The majesty of the dark night lit by celestial torches as the holy planetary powers trace their paths in the heavens in fixed and steady metre - ordering the growth of things with their secret infusions.

The sun set without pomp—it just got dark.

There was a sky. There was a body. And a planet underneath it. And it was all lovely. And it did not matter. He had never been happy before. And it did not matter.

They merely stood, completely absorbed by nothing. Time dissolved into the sky. There was little difference between landscape and spectators. Insensible things that existed in one another.

At that hour the moon is almost entirely eaten away; it doesn't know where to go after reaching the city. The sky has to loosen its grip on the earth as day begins to break. The streets run steeply up and down, and the streetcars travel back and forth like rooms ablaze with light.

The hunger angel looks at me from the sky and says: Ride back. I say: But then I'll die. If you die, I'll make everything orange, and it won't hurt, he says. And I ride back, and he keeps his word. As I die, the sky over every watchtower turns orange, and it doesn't hurt.

En el camino me resultaba sospechoso que arriba, en el cielo, hubiera algo hermoso y en la tierra, abajo, no hubiera ninguna ley que prohibiese mirar a lo alto.