Quotes About Moonlit

love as if you're riding through the storm of the century. You surf the waves, ride the crests, sail through moonlit waters with ice in your rigging… but you love each other as you go. You love each other as if every day is the only day….

Some things are so impossible, so fantastic, that when they happen, you are not at all surprised. Their sheer impossibility has made you imagine them too many times in your head, and when you find yourself on that longed-for moonlit path, it seems unreal but still, somehow, familiar. You dreamed of it, of course; you know it like a memory.

I bought the records. Can't play them now. No wind-up gramophone! But I am a sentimental fellow and I keep them among my souvenirs as a reminder of the days when I walked home alone across the silent, moonlit parade ground, after the evening show was over.

Gloomily the clouds are sailing O'er the dimly moonlit sky; Dolefully the wind is wailing, Not another sound is nigh.

the fragrance of pine resin is frankincense poured out—a balm of stars and snow and moonlit nights

Bring forth the raisins and the nuts- Tonight All-Hallows' Spectre struts Along the moonlit way.

I would build a cloudy House For my thoughts to live in; When for earth too fancy-loose And too low for Heaven! Hush! I talk my dream aloud - I build it bright to see, - I build it on the moonlit cloud, To which I looked with thee.

No mortal lights illuminated the scene: not even a few candles flickering dimly in the windows of the White Tower. There was only the ethereal moonlit glow surrounding the court of the Daoine Sidhe, who waited on fair steeds like so many ghostly riders on a procession out of Hell.

Wolves don't live long, who walk heedlessly into a moonlit field. Even one that amounts to their backyard.

Most of England would consider him fortunate, and Thaddeus had always agreed. But in this moment, on this moonlit night, he felt as if he had only just discovered what it meant to be truly blessed. It was to be loved.

What life is cannot be photographed or weighed for it is not a substance but an action, and what it does is a better way to know life than to classify its materials. It will do with a marshmallow, for example, about what the campfire on a moonlit night will do.

Waking in a strange bed, I'd forgotten magpies until this morning. Beyond the window, one flies over the weathered picket fence, black-white staccato wing beat: moonlit cloud against night sky, snow-streaked shadowed mountain, manic-depressive, winged declaration of disunion.

I closed my eyes and lay my head against the headrest, and we sat there together for a while longer, two people lost in remembered music, half hidden in the shadow of a castle on a moonlit hill.

we sat there together for a while longer, two people lost in remembered music, half hidden in the shadow of a castle on a moonlit hill.

The yearning in which the moonlit sky had engulfed me was like the craving I had felt for some woman whose body and spirit were unattainable. And now I perceived that it was just because the sky was likewise unattainable that I so yearned for it...

And yet amid that tense godless calm the high bare boughs of all the trees in the yard were moving. They were twitching morbidly and spasmodically, clawing in convulsive and epileptic madness at the moonlit clouds; scratching impotently in the noxious air as if jerked by some allied and bodiless line of linkage with subterrene horrors writhing and struggling below the black roots.

All at once I began dreading to look at them as they passed. I saw the close moonlit space where they would surge by, and had curious thoughts about the irredeemable pollution of that space. They would perhaps be the worst of all Innsmouth types--something one would not care to remember. The

like a zephyr shooting into the night sky, leaving a trail of moonlit particles that swirled in brief, unspeakable beauty, and then faded into nothing.

Esperanza's dark beauty brought on images of moonlit skies, night walks on the beach, olive trees in a gentle breeze. She wore hoop earrings. Her long black hair always had the perfect muss to it. Her sheer white blouse had been fitted by a benevolent deity; it may have been open a button too low but it was all working. The

She prowled the city on moonlit nights, and OK, there was the occasional chicken, but she always remembered where she'd been and went round the next day to shove some money under the door. It was hard to be a vegetarian who had to pick bits of meat out of her teeth in the morning. She was definately on top of it, though. It was easy to be a vegetarian by day. It was preventing yourself from becoming a humanitarian at night that took the real effort.

She turned her face seaward to gather in an impression of space and solitude, which the vast expanse of water, meeting and melting with the moonlit sky, conveyed to her excited fancy. As she swam she seemed to be reaching out for the unlimited in which to lose herself.

A mile ahead the great eyes of the Mercedes hooded themselves as they went over the crest of Wrotham Hill and disappeared down into the moonlit panorama of the Weald of Kent.

W]riting stories not only involved secrecy, it also gave her all the pleasures of miniaturisation. A world could be made in five pages....The childhood of a spoiled prince could be framed within half a page, a moonlit dash through sleepy villages was one rhythmically empathic sentence, falling in love would be achieved in a single word—a glance .

What a nice night for an evening.