Quotes About Sky

The lightning danced along the sky and sizzled among the trees, reverberated with butt-clenching snaps and crackles, and strobed briefly through the limbs and leaves.

To top things off nicely, it began to lightning in the east, stitching up the pit-black sky like a drunk seamstress with bright yellow thread.

When the end comes, I hope it's as strange as that. I hope that the sky tears open and the world is washed with colors that we've never seen before.

The night sky is beautiful, and like all beauty, it is indifferent.

O full and splendid Moon, whom I Have, from this desk, seen climb the sky

A certain recluse, I know not who, once said that no bonds attached him to this life, and the only thing he would regret leaving was the sky.

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves flash and yearn

We need hope. There's nothing worse than to live a life of despair. For a person to have no hope just sucks the blue out of every sky.

Was there a time when dancers with their fiddles In children's circuses could stay their troubles? There was a time they could cry over books, But time has set its maggot on their track. Under the arc of the sky they are unsafe. What's never known is safest in this life. Under the skysigns they have no arms Have cleanest hands, and, as the heartless ghost Alone's unhurt, so the blind man sees best.

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows. Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud. And the sky of the sky of a tree called life; Which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide. And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.

A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.

We looked at the sky. So many stars, it seemed like a celebration, a grand, illicit party the galaxy was holding after the humans had been put to bed.

I spun violently into the sky, raging and banging stars from their moorings, swirling and vomiting.

The music was turbulent. It made her feel as if the sky was about to break open, and as if Mikey not loving her and Toby being an addict were being pushed through the music into the sky.

There was something better in life than this rub­bish, if only he could get to it—love—nobility—big spaces where passion clasped peace, spaces no science could reach, but they existed for ever, full of woods some of them, and arched with majestic sky and a friend. . .

Then she lay on her back and gazed at the cloudless sky. Mr. Beebe, whose opinion of her rose daily, whispered to his niece that that was the proper way to behave if any little thing went wrong.

But this time I'm not to blame; I want you to believe that. I simply slipped into those violets. No, I want to be really truthful. I am a little to blame. The sky, you know, was gold, and the ground all blue, and for a moment he looked like some one in a book.

My father says that there is only one perfect view — the view of the sky straight over our heads, and that all these views on earth are but bungled copies of it.

We reach in desperation beyond the fog, beyond the very stars, the voids of the universe are ransacked to justify the monster, and stamped with a human face. London is religions opportunity--not the decorous religion of theologians, but an anthropomorphic, crude. Yes, the continuous flow would be tolerable if a man of our own sort--not anyone pompous or tearful--were caring for us up in the sky.

She watched the moon, whose radiance stained with primrose the purple of the surrounding sky. In England the moon had seemed dead and alien; here she was caught in the shawl of night together with earth and all the other stars.

The sky, you know, was gold, and the ground all blue, and for a moment he looked like some one in a book.

Once more the west was retreating, once again the orderly stars were dotting the eastern sky. There is certainly no rest for us on the earth. But there is happiness, and as Margaret descended the mound on her lover's arm, she felt that she was having her share.

The sky settles everything--not only climates and seasons but when the earth shall be beautiful.

T]here is only one perfect view--the view of the sky straight over our heads, and that all these views on earth are but bungled copies of it.... views are really crowds--crowds of trees and houses and hills... [f]or a crowd is more than the people who make it up. Something gets added to it.