Quotes About Space

in a world where vast geographical spaces could suddenly shrink to the dimensions of a coffin

La cuarta dimensión, decía, contiene a las tres dimensiones y les adjudica, de paso, su valor real, es decir anula la dictadura de las tres dimensiones, y anula, por lo tanto, el mundo tridimensional que conocemos y en el que vivimos.

They used to say that the universe is made essentially of hexagonal rock crystals, also — and especially — where it is darker and more shapeless, in the spaces that open up beyond the Milky Way. Those same hexagonal crystals are alveoli in the brain, where images emerged. And the central commissure of the encephalon, two entwined serpents, is to be found in the Milky Way.

Design is action at a distance.

Ah, Beloved. Of all the things I must bid farewell to, you are the most difficult to lose. Forgive me that I have avoided you. Better, perhaps, that we make a space between us and become accustomed to it before fate forces that upon us.

There are endings. There are beginnings. Sometimes they coincide, with the ending of one thing marking the beginning of another. But sometimes there is simply a long space after an ending, a time when it seems everything else has ended and nothing else can ever begin.

Dad turned to Kurt. "You must be the boy I keep hearing about." "I guess so," Kurt said. "Well, Kurt," Dad said, "just remember that I specialize in tying things to rockets and sending them into space. And sometimes they accidentally blow up." "Dad." "You'll have no reason to kill me, sir." "Kurt. You make sure she doesn't cry, okay?" Dad smiled happily at Kurt and then sagely at me.

He hesitated, as if wrestling with the desire to cross the space between us and kiss me until I admitted I was just a tiny bit in love with him too. But he didn't. He didn't.

It was a secret space, a place apart from the world where all time stood still.

He heard people singing. Behind him, across vast distances of space and time, from the place he had left, he thought he heard music too. But perhaps it was only an echo.

Behind him, across vast distances of space and time, from the place he had left, he thought he heard music, too. But perhaps it was only an echo.

Miles watched the evening shadows flowing up along the backbone of the Dendarii range, high and massive in the distance. How small those mountains looked from space! Little wrinkles on the skin of a globe he could cover with his hand, all their crushing mass made invisible. Which was illusory, distance or nearness? Distance, Miles decided. Distance was a damned lie. Had his father known this? Miles suspected so.

Let's go over a little astrography. Geography is the mother of strategy, they say.

Quinn keyed up a three-dimensional holovid schematic of Vega Station and its neighbors. The jump routes were represented by sparkling jagged lines between hazy spheres of local space systems.

Leo aimed toward the Habitat, and Phase II of his Jumpships-Repaired-While-U-Wait scheme.

Silver manned the com; and Leo—held down the post of chief engineer, he supposed. The chain of command became rather blurred at this point. Perhaps his title ought to be Official Ship's Worrier.

Remember, these are levels of consciousness, and not places or heavens located somewhere out in space.

Those that know of... Paths of space... Have little time to waste on such things as magic... And those who know whence poetry is, and the need that man has for song, or know any one of the fifty branches of magic, have little time to waste on such things as science...

Lights come and go in the night sky. Men, troubled at last by the things they build, may toss in their sleep and dream bad dreams, or lie awake while the meteors whisper greenly overhead. But nowhere in all space or on a thousand worlds will there be men to share our loneliness.

I cried for everyone and for all the scrabbly, funny love one sent out into the world like some hit song that enters space and bounds off to another galaxy, a tune so pretty you think the words are true, you do!

I am thinking of the dancing body's magnificent and ostentatious scorn. This is how we offer ourselves, enter heaven, enter speaking: we say with motion, in space, This is what life's done so far down here; this is all and what and everything it's managed - this body, these bodies, that body - so what do you think, Heaven? What do you fucking think?

I cried for everyone and for all the scrabbly, funny love one sent out into the world like some hit song that enters space and bounds off to another galaxy, a tune so pretty you think the words are true, you do! There was never any containing a song like that, keeping it. It went off and out, speeding out of earshot or imagining or any reach at all, like a rocket invented in sleep.

Jo knew nothing about philosophy or metaphysics of any sort, but a curious excitement, half pleasurable, half painful, came over her, as she listened with a sense of being turned adrift into time and space, like a young balloon out on a holiday.

My suggestion is to err in getting what seems at present too much room rather than not enough.