Best 2265 quotes in «moon quotes» category

The first day or so we all pointed to our countries. The third or fourth day we were pointing to our continents. By the fifth day, we were aware of only one Earth.

The flirty old moon eased his way across the warped and sooty floorboards and kissed my bare toes, turning my feet as luminous as the skin of cinema stars.

The full Moon's light poured into the room like a stroke from a wide paintbrush...

The gentle pulsing and flickering of stars and nebulae made a kind of music, a sweet easy mesh of whispered tones and sighing harmonies that held him in its force like the earth [holding] the moon.

The gut is the seat of all feeling. Polluting the gut not only cripples your immune system, but also destroys your sense of empathy, the ability to identify with other humans. Bad bacteria in the gut creates neurological issues. Autism can be cured by detoxifying the bellies of young children. People who think that feelings come from the heart are wrong. The gut is where you feel the loss of a loved one first. It's where you feel pain and a heavy bulk of your emotions. It's the central base of your entire immune system. If your gut is loaded with negative bacteria, it affects your mind. Your heart is the seat of your conscience. If your mind is corrupted, it affects your conscience. The heart is the Sun. The gut is the Moon. The pineal gland is Neptune, and your brain and nervous system (5 senses) are Mercury. What affects the moon or sun affects the entire universe within. So, if you poison the gut, it affects your entire nervous system, your sense of reasoning, and your senses.

The light overcome the darkness.

The Light Of The Crescent Moon *** The full moon, my moon The light of the crescent moon Showers on my entire entity The honey tasted lips The discussing eyes The touching, smiling The perfumed personality The future prime minister Of my heart and mind I love you As like everyone loves you.

The lilac moon came high an altitude from mine to clasp its beauty,yet next to my bosom hide, lies she,like ten thousand silver moons illumine;and her soul’s music showered words as she spoke wide.

The lovelorn came, too. The alone. The lunatics-they were brought here, sometimes. Got their name from the moon, it was only fair the moon had a chance to fix things.

The moonbeams dripped across the man’s face.

The magic of autumn has seized the countryside; now that the sun isn't ripening anything it shines for the sake of the golden age; for the sake of Eden; to please the moon for all I know.

The loyal and most emerald The tempted By the moon's aging white Never fell from grace Never felt this grey

THE MAXIMS OF MEDICINE Before you examine the body of a patient, Be patient to learn his story. For once you learn his story, You will also come to know His body. Before you diagnose any sickness, Make sure there is no sickness in the mind or heart. For the emotions in a man’s moon or sun, Can point to the sickness in Any one of his other parts. Before you treat a man with a condition, Know that not all cures can heal all people. For the chemistry that works on one patient, May not work for the next, Because even medicine has its own Conditions. Before asserting a prognosis on any patient, Always be objective and never subjective. For telling a man that he will win the treasure of life, But then later discovering that he will lose, Will harm him more than by telling him That he may lose, But then he wins. THE MAXIMS OF MEDICINE by Suzy Kassem

The Moon always finds an opportunity to turn our attention from the ground beneath our feet to the sky above our head!

The moon & sun were just friends til that night the sun couldn’t depart before dark snowed in under an avalanche of stars & poetry was born.

The moon belongs to the lovers? Yes! But it also belongs to the lonely! It belongs to anyone who needs it!

The moon climbed out of the ravine, blue, skinny, as if it had been fed on nothing but skimmed milk. It climbed out, and quickly slithered up and up along the finest thread-away from trouble, and on the very top it huddled, crouching on thin legs. ("The Protectress Of Sinners")

The moon embalms me with her love and she kisses me good night. The nightingale sings her song of love when I take rest in the arms of darkness in the night!

The moon energy is ancient, and with it comes our elders’ insights. The silver lining to every lesson, a clarity of consciousness that can be the gift to even the darkest of passages.

The moon has been loving us with her dreamy smile for billions of years, but still she is not tired.

The Moon is slipping from our grasp at a rate of about 1.5 inches a year. In another two billion years it will have receded so far that it won’t keep us steady and we will have to come up with some other solution, but in the meantime you should think of it as much more than just a pleasant feature in the night sky.

The moon is the same but the observers are different.

The moon is a body to desire and conquer, a poet's cliche and a scientist's fathomability.

The moon is beautiful only when the mind is seeking beauty and the heart is loving.

The moon is beautiful partly because we cannot reach it, (the sea is impressive because one can never be sure of crossing it safely. Even the pleasure one takes in a flower — and this is true even of a botanist who knows all there is to be known about the flower is dependent partly on the sense of mystery.

The moon is in a holding cell, grasped between the bones of his failing ribcage.

The moon is queen of everything. She rules the oceans, rivers, rain. When I am asked whose tears these are; I always blame the moon.

The moon rode in the sky - a hunted thing dodging behind wisps of tattered cloud, and the air was heavy and wet and redolent of dying leaves. ("The Refugee")

The moon rose, squatting in the strained blue.

The moon was a fang in the lightning sky.

The moon is your reminder that God is never-changing, and you can always depend on Him to hear your prayers.

The moon makes love to the ocean and in this holy conception it gives birth to a little tide.

The moon rose up that evening and shot her silver arrows at the house under the artu tree. The house was empty. Then the moon came across the sea and across the reef. She lit the lagoon to it's dark, dim heart. She lit the coral brains and sand spaces, and the fish casting their shadows on the sand and the coral. The keeper of the lagoon rose to greet her, and the fin of him broke her reflection on the mirror-like surface into a thousand glittering ripples. She saw the white staring ribs of the form on the reef. Then, peeping over the trees, she looked down into the valley, where the great stone idol had kept it's solitary vigil for five thousand years, perhaps, and more. At this base, in his shadow, looking as if under his protection, lay two human beings, naked, clasped in each other's arms and fast asleep. One could scarcely pity his vigil, had it been marked sometimes through the years by such an incident as this. The thing had been conducted just as the birds conduct their love affairs. An affair absolutely natural, absolutely blameless and without sin. A marriage according to Nature, without feasts or guests, consummated with accidental cynicism under the shadow of a religion a thousand years dead.

The moon's a crazy sweetheart.

The moon speaks in slivers and halves.

The moon's reflection bored into the flat water like a hole into the sea...

The moon teaches us that darkness can’t hide the beauty of life if we know how to reflect beauty.

The moon shone Bright that night ... And the poetry? It just happened

The moon stays beautiful with its craters So why then are you afraid of your scars?

THE MOON was but a chin of gold A night or two ago, And now she turns her perfect face Upon the world below. Her forehead is of amplest blond; Her cheek like beryl stone; Her eye unto the summer dew The likest I have known. Her lips of amber never part; But what must be the smile Upon her friend she could bestow Were such her silver will! And what a privilege to be But the remotest star! For certainly her way might pass Beside your twinkling door. Her bonnet is the firmament, The universe her shoe, The stars the trinkets at her belt, Her dimities of blue.

The moon was low but not full. The men set out along the dock in conversation. As they dropped onto the dark beach, Simmons declared, ‘There can be no better place in the world than this.’ Henderson had to agree. The beach was beautiful. The stars lit the sand and balmy air rode in as the waves washed up on paradise

The moon was sewn into the sky that night

The Moth and Its Beloved Ask the moth the beauty of the candle And it will burn without a confession There is a secret to its longing For it feels no fear or hesitation The moth is too much in love with the flame Yet it does not appear under the sun For the moon’s light is far too feeble, and It gave up on its pursuit of the sun Just a sight of a candle is enough To remind it of its real beloved So it settles for that candle in reach, Revels in its heat, and asks to be burned

THE MOTH AND THE BUTTERFLY When the sun rises over the horizon, the butterfly emerges to dance in its brilliant light. It flickers its colorful wings with euphoria, To celebrate all the beauty found in the majestic garden of life. When the moon arrives in the darkness, The moth appears at the disappearance of sunlight. It flickers its pale wings as it shakes from its deep slumber, To go search for food To carry it through the night. The moth prefers the moon and detests the sun, while the butterfly loves the sun and hides from the moon. Every living creature responds to light, But depending on the amount of light you have inside, Determines which lamp in the sky Your heart will swoon. Poetry by Suzy Kassem

The natural consequence of being connected to the depth, what I call the soul, or your essence, is the attribute of joy.

The night was over, for he did not dare to play forbidden games with a woman who had proven too many times that she knew the dark side of the moon.

Then the whole range, much nearer now, paled into fresh splendor; a full moon rose, touching each peak in succession like some celestial lamplighter, until the long horizon glittered against a blue-black sky.

The ocean cradles the bloodied moon in its aquatic arms like a mother holds her crying babe.

The one created thing which we cannot look at is the one thing in the light of which we look at everything. Like the sun at noonday, mysticism explains everything else by the blaze of its own victorious invisibility. Detached intellectualism is (in the exact sense of a popular phrase) all moonshine; for it is light without heat, and it is secondary light, reflected from a dead world. But the Greeks were right when they made Apollo the god both of imagination and of sanity; for he was both the patron of poetry and the patron of healing. Of necessary dogmas and a special creed I shall speak later. But that transcendentalism by which all men live has primarily much the position of the sun in the sky. We are conscious of it as of a kind of splendid confusion; it is something both shining and shapeless, at once a blaze and a blur. But the circle of the moon is as clear and unmistakable, as recurrent and inevitable, as the circle of Euclid on a blackboard. For the moon is utterly reasonable; and the moon is the mother of lunatics and has given to them all her name.

The one who tries to catch the Moon by jumping up has more chance to reach the moon than the one who just sits and does nothing to reach it because all targets require action!