Quotes About Sky

Oh, there are unrepeated words, Who ever said wasted more than he should. Inexhaustible only is the blue Of sky and generosity of God.

Divine angel, who betrothed us Secretly on winter morn, From our sadness-free existence Does not take his darkened eyes. For this reason we love sky, And fresh wind, and air so thin, And the dark tree branches Behind fence of iron. For this reason we love the strict, Many-watered, and dark city, And we love the parting, And brief meetings' hour.

She looked, and saw the black, domed sky arching over her head. And her heart dilated; she felt the great black dome in her heart. She sat under the stars, worshipping them. Her heart opened and grew vast, until the whole sky with all its stars began to pour into her, a mysterious flood of star-strung darkness. She wanted to receive the night sky into her heart.

A lightning flash is stabbed into the sky and jabbed at by other flashes, their crazy neons jittering into word shapes, WHAT IS LOST NOW IS OUR HOME IN THIS WORLD.

Here Naples was not bathed by the sea. I was sure that no one had ever seen this place or remembered it. In this dark pit only the fire of sexuality burned bright under an eerie black sky.

Beautiful in the frost and mist-covered hills above the Dnieper, the life of the City hummed and steamed like a many-layered honeycomb. All day long smoke spiralled in ribbons up to the sky from innumerable chimney-pots. A haze floated over the streets, the packed snow creaked underfoot, houses towered to five, six and even seven storeys. By day their windows were black, while at night they shone in rows against the deep, dark blue sky . . .

Only the bellying treetops surrounding the campground are darker than the sky. I let the light go without protest; I am so filled with it right now. It makes me feel transparent, like bright glass, like a window open wide.

As in childhood we live sweeping close to the sky and now, what dawn is this.

A paste of blue cloud untangled itself on the red sky over the harbour.

XII. WINGS Steps off a scraped March sky and sinks Up into the blind Atlantic morning One small Red dog jumping across the beach miles below Like a freed shadow

The huge night moved overhead scattering drops of itself.

El frío baja desmochado desde el hueso de luna del cielo.

Water rising under rock Breaks earth's lock, Floods thirst roots, Nurtures sap and trunk and shoots, Greens and plumps each greedy leaf Till dappled sunlight like a thief Sucks leaf-water as I breathe, Makes of mist an airy wreath To drift and float and wander high To the sky, And fall again, Sweet, rich rain, Run under rock and Rise again.

Of course I am bland, she thought. You too would be bland if you grew up with one gas pump in front of the house and nothing else except a view that stretched over half the world. Landscape made me bland, bears poking in the garbage can stunted my individuality, as did plagues of horseflies, permafrost, wild-fire, and the sun setting like a bomb. So much sky makes one bewildered - which is the proper way to be.

If you don't die of thirst, there are blessings in the desert. You can be pulled into limitlessness, which we all yearn for, or you can do the beauty of minutiae, the scrimshaw of tiny and precise. The sky is your ocean, and the crystal silence will uplift you like great gospel music, or Neil Young.

Above us, outlined against the brilliant sky, dragons crowded every available perching space on the Rim. And the sun made a gold of every one of them.

Fireflies winked, and the darkening bay breathed and sighed like a great dolphin and the thin pure curve of a young moon hung in the green sky...

All in all, I'd say, the world is strangling. And I, in my bed each night, listen to my twenty shoes converse about it. And the moon, under its dark hood, falls out of the sky each night, with its hungry red mouth to suck at my scars.

Soon there were grown-ups scattered all across the grass. In the dark, they looked like laundry. "Now," said Bean in a loud voice. "Look up into the sky. Smell how nice the grass is. Listen to the trees. And just rest. Don't talk. Don't do anything. And don't worry. You're totally safe.

Tenir. Faire comme d'habitude. J'ai traité, pendant deux heures au téléphone, les problèmes de traduction anglaise de Une femme. Puis Leclerc. Le ciel bleu, les arbres ensoleillés, le froid, comme l'année dernière, les mardis de novembre.

Love is something like the clouds that were in the sky, Before the sun came out. You cannot touch the clouds, you know but you feel the rain and know How glad the flowers and the thirsty earth are to have it after a hot day. You cannot touch love either, But you feel the sweetness that it pours into everything.

We'll see how the sky catches fire. We'll see how she feeds the flames with her implacable hate.

How far you are from understanding what my intentions are. May fruitful earth refuse to take my blood and the bright sky my spirit, if I ever betray you, if I let myself go free and leave you. I did the murder, too. I don't deny it.

When you're sad, my Little Star, go out of doors. It's always better underneath the open sky.