Quotes About Sky

The sky is like a black sieve pierced by silver drops that tremble, ready to burst through.

When she had gone upstairs, he walked to a window and stood looking up at the sky. His head thrown back, he felt the pull of his throat muscles and he wondered whether the peculiar solemnity of looking at the sky comes, not from what one contemplates, but from that uplift of one's head.

Things stood still, not a leaf trembled on the branches, while the sky slowly lost its color and became an expanse that looked like the spread of glowing water.

The fields are black and ploughed, and they lie like a great fan before us, with their furrows gathered in some hand beyond the sky, spreading forth from that hand, opening wide apart as they come toward us, like black pleats that sparkle with thin, green spangles.

And now we look upon the earth and sky. This spread of naked rock and peaks and moonlight is like a world ready to be born, a world that waits. It seems to us it asks a sign from us, a spark, a first commandment. We cannot know what word we are to give, nor what great deed this earth expects to witness. We know it waits. It seems to say it has great gifts to lay before us. We are to speak. We are to give its goal, its highest meaning to all this glowing space of rock and sky.

It was a day in March, and the sky was a faint green with the first hint of spring. In Central Park, five hundred feet below, the earth caught the tone of the sky in a shade of brown that promised to become green, and the lakes lay like splinters of glass under the cobwebs of bare branches.

The power of the sky can be made to do men's bidding. There are no limits to its secrets and its might, and it can be made to grant us anything if we but choose to ask.

My hands . . . My spirit . . . My sky . . . My forest . . . This earth of mine . . .

The sky is a soggy purple.

Zagledal je temno, veliko, obla?no nebo, iz katerega — je pomislil — so pred stoletji izgnali Boga, pribežališ?e slabi?ev in premagancev.

Even the sky a hybrid — here clean and black and starred, there roiling with a brusque signature of cloud or piled in strata like folded linen or the interior of rock.

I was always wild territory buried below manicured lawns and once I had ripped pretty flowers from the careful parts of me unearthed keening once I left the whole damn thing open to the sky I touched a place in me too Wild to ever pull weeds again or water plastic grass again or prop the baby tree with sticks again or call my soul cultivated again I was never going down that way

There'll be a sky full of babies and their shit, suspended overhead. You do not want to get caught in that rain when it falls.

This one kid Mark at the party that gave me this came out of nowhere looked at the sky and told me to see the stars. So, I looked up, and we were in this giant dome like a glass snowball, and Mark said that the amazing white stars were really only holes in the black glass of the dome, and when you went to heaven, the glass broke away, and there was nothing of a whole sheet of star white, which is brighter than anyhting but doensn't hurt your eyes.

Napoleon recalled his dismay at seeing 'mountains of swirling red flames, like huge ocean waves, exploding up into the sky of fire, then sinking into the sea of flames below'.

Internet users, that blue screen of death you were looking at this morning? That's the sky. If you're still confused, look it up on Wikipedia tomorrow.

If I should cast off this tattered coat, And go free into the mighty sky; If I should find nothing there But a vast blue, Echoless, ignorant -- What then?

LCVI If I should cast off this tattered coat, And go free into the mighty sky; If I should find nothing there But a bast blue, Echoless, ignorant,- What then?

LXV [Once, I knew a fine song] Once, I knew a fine song, —It is true, believe me,— It was all of birds, And I held them in a basket; When I opened the wicket, Heavens! They all flew away. I cried, "Come back, little thoughts!" But they only laughed. They flew on Until they were as sand Thrown between me and the sky.

The seeding of Gaia gave us meaning, a germination of thought into shape. Seminal semantic semiology from the semen of the sky.

Together Perseus and Andromeda look over their unruly shower of meteor children, the PERSEIDS, whom we can still watch showing off in the night sky once a year.

So look carefully at the map of the microwave sky. It is the blueprint for all the structure in the universe. We are the product of quantum fluctuations in the very early universe. If one were religious, one could say that God really does play dice.

Aristarchus suspected that this was the case and believed that the stars we see in the night sky are actually nothing more than distant suns.

Eagles were "not the prettiest birds in the world" and were "sky sloths";