Quotes About Ethereal

Somewhere along the way we identified ourselves with them, and came to associate birds with the realm of spirits, as opposed to that of bodies and their carnal appetites.

The mist hung in the air like a prancing unicorn.

They floated for a while, two flesher-shaped creatures and a giant worm in a cloud of spinning metal fragments, an absurd collection of imaginary debris, glinting by the light of the true stars.

the sky was shrugging away the clouds

Her eyes were dancing like those of angels.

El amor...! El amor es un rayo de luna

he is able to appear inside locked rooms and come and go in ways an ordinary body could not do.

rather like a tired ghost after a long and exhausting spell of haunting.

It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, don't spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the ethereal bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, the endlessnessnessness...

What is a ghost? Stephen said with tingling energy. One who has faded into impalpability through death, through absence, through change of manners.

Make me feel good in the moontime.

A dark horse riderless, bolts like a phantom past the winning post, his mane moonflowing, his eyeballs stars.

Departe, de-a lungul cursului leneÈ™ului Liffey, catarge zvelte t?rcau cerul È™i, mai departe înc?, urzeala tulbure a oraÈ™ului z?cea prosternat? în pâcl?.

There was an otherworldly quality about him, the aura of one privy to secret communiques in forgotten languages.

skinny as horsehair in a glass of milk

So the crow spirals down through a collapsed dream and the only sound it makes in like a concave scream.

He'd given up squid merchanting when he'd found that the creatures inhabited his dreams, all leggy and cold.

She wasn't ordinary, I liked her that way. Mystery oozed from her pours as she walked so lightly I could have mistaken her for an angel.

My soule, poore soule thou talkes of things/ Thou knowest not what, my soule hath sliver wings,/ That mounts me up unto the highest heavens.

The only value of this world lay in its power - at certain times - to suggest another world.

The stars were a frozen effervescence.

How like an angel came I down!

In the presence of immortality—the endlessly churning sea, the plowed fields of the sky, the loose gypsy wind—the rest of her life feels absurdly, ridiculously mortal and transient. Transient as money, fragile as love. As ethereal and ready to pop as these balloons that are dancing in the wind.

She was so pale she could have been moonlight.