Quotes About Ethereal

Even in the moonlight you'll glitter like barrow wights. They'll see you coming from a mile away.

It was snowing. Her suit warmed rapidly, and the starvision visor turned the world smoky gray, ethereal, with the snow drifting down in black flakes. The grass was frozen, but she could not hear the crunch of her footsteps: all sound, all vision, all sensation was filtered by her suit. She was isolated from the world, just as though this were one of her first virtual-reality training missions as a cadet.

The sky was soft and milky, like the plain; it was as if she stood inside a hollow pearl. It made her dizzy.

The musicians were hidden at the heart of the enclosure; the music seemed to come from the sky. God music.

The flesh is nearly burnt from your bones and the human from your heart. You're nothing but wyrd and ælf breath. Spend less time in the wind.

Hild stepped forward so the moon caught her face, thin and pale.

Ghosts grew from the thin grey mist of hollow hills, the damp and drizzle of dusk, the breath of the dead.

They knew she was a creature of the uncanny so let her protect herslf with wyrd and stave while she went to other worlds and communed with the gods.

Floating to shore...riding a low moon...on a slow cloud.

Autour de lui il n'y avait que de l'insaisissable. de l'impalpable. ô combien impalpable !

Akin rested his chin on Iriarte's shoulder and savored the strange pale scents—all pale now.

Elves are cool, man.

Heaven forbid if beauty were to have substance.

Strange people. The kind that leave the merest blur behind them, soon vanished. Hutte and I often used to talk about these traceless beings. They spring up out of nothing one fine day and return there, having sparkled a little. Beauty queens. Gigolos. Butterflies. Most of them, even when alive, had no more substance than steam which will never condense.

J'avançais avec ce sentiment de légèreté qui vous prend quelque fois dans les rêves. Vous ne craignez plus rien, tous les dangers sont dérisoires.

the slow regard of silent things had wafted off the moisture in the air.

So strange and rare. So full of faraway.

She has a face like a wicked moon.

She was of the Fae. She did not worry over right or wrong. She was a creature of pure desire, much like a child.

I dreamed I was somewhere that was also nowhere.

The spirits rose like an ether that spun an arabesque and touched down as gently as a benevolent mask.

Everything pours forth. Photographs their history. Books their words. Walls their sounds. The spirits rose like an ether that spun an arabesque and touched down as gently as a benevolent mask.

It pleased me to imagine a presence above us, in continual motion, like liquid stars.

It had started with the moon, inaccessible poem that it was.