Quotes About Sky

El ocaso del día era como el fin del mundo, con esos atardeceres color violeta que hay en Bogotá, ciudad que es fea pero que tiene un cielo muy lindo, algo incomprensible

The sky the sky- same as it always was.

As impossible, in fact, as keeping the moon...So I looked down the line at all my friends, knowing I would always remember this. And then I turned my gaze back up to the sky, and put my faith in that moon and its return.

You can't just plan a moment when things get back on track, just as you can't plan the moment you lose your way in the first place. But standing there alone on the landing, I thought of Grandma Halley and how she'd held me close against her lap as we watched the sky together. I'd always thought I couldn't remember, but suddenly in that moment, I closed my eyes and saw the comet, finally, brilliant and impossible, stretching above me across the sky.

I eased back on my elbows, tilting my head back to look up at the sky, which was pinkish, streaked with red. This was the time we knew best, that stretch of day going from dusk to dark. It seemed like we were always waiting for nighttime here. I could feel the trampoline easing up and down, moved by our own breathing, bringing us in small increments up and back from the sky as the colors faded, slowly, and the stars began to show themselves.

A sky still fits the ignition. There just isn't anything left to drive.

A white December sky overly the Atlantic gloom. The message of Nature seemed to be that conditions were severe, that things were tough, very tough, and that people should console one another.

The sky was the colour of sad weddings.

The early summer sky was the color of cat vomit. Of course, Tally thought, you'd have to feed your cat only salmon-flavored cat food for a while, to get the pinks right.

The physical beauty…also cleared her mind of worries. Every day seemed to change the mountain, the sky, and the surrounding valleys, making them spectacular in a completely new way. Nature, at least, didn't need an operation to be beautiful. It just was.

When glance turns To a sky-blue clear day, When the purplr-red sun Sinks low at sirocco, Here nature bestows glory, Joy, sound to eye and heart, And we find in color lore, The universal truth. - - - GER: Wenn der Blick an heitern Tagen Sich zur Himmelsbläue lenkt, Beim Sirok der Sonnenwagen Purpurrot sich niedersenkt, Da gebt der Natur die Ehre, Froh, an Aug und Herz gesund, Und erkennt der Farbenlehre Allgemeinen, ewigen Grund. Zahme Xenien VI.

Herrlich glänzte der Mond, der volle, vom Himmel herunter;

What is saved in the cinema when it achieves art is a spontaneous continuity with all mankind. It is not an art of the princes or the bourgeoisie. It is popular and vagrant. In the sky of the cinema people learn what they might have been and discover what belongs to them apart from their single lives.

Those who first invented and then named the constellations were storytellers. What it changed was the way people read the night sky.

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves flash and yearn, and moreover my mother told me as a boy (repeatedly) 'Ever to confess you're bored means you have no inner Resources.' I conclude now I have no inner resources, because I am heavy bored.

When nature made the blue-bird she wished to propitiate both the sky and the earth, so she gave him the color of the one on his back and the hue of the other on his breast.

By noon, in a gray February world, we had come down through snow flurries to land at Albany, and had taken off again. When the snow ended the sky was a luminous gray. I looked down at the winter calligraphy of upstate New York, white fields marked off by the black woodlots, an etching without color, superbly restful in contrast to the smoky, guttering, grinding stink of the airplane clattering across the sky like an old commuter bus.

So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky

What are clouds, but an excuse for the sky? What is life, but an escape from death?

What I saw was just one eye In the dawn as I was going: A bird can carry all the sky In that little button glowing. Never in my life I went So deep into the firmament.

There is no life and there is no death. Life and death are moving shadows cast upon the ground by clouds that sweep across the sky.

To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.

That inverted Bowl we call The Sky,Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die.

Beware of the deadly donky, falling from the sky' you can choose the way you live, my friend, but not the way you die.