Best 2265 quotes in «moon quotes» category

I dipped my hands in the moon-blood;

I do not want to sleep for fear I might miss the twinkle of the brightest star for fear I may never know how the moon glimmers, in the darkest hour.

I don't care for moon to be on my side, I already have his Master.

I don’t know what was more exhausting—being forced to spew out overwrought poetry for hours on end or having that little girl gaze at me all night as if I hung the moon.” A wry smile touched Adrian’s lips. “Didn’t you?” “No,” Julian retorted, lifting the decanter to the sky in a mocking toast. “Only the stars.

I don't know you, But I love you, Just as God loves me and you. The sun and the moon are opposing forces, But they still greet each other, Peacefully, As one awakens in the morning, Just as the other goes to sleep. Life has pounded me down and thrashed me around, Time and time again, But I always get right back up, Because I still love life - Just as the earth still loves The rain. ENDURANCE by Suzy Kassem THE SPRING FOR WISDOM Copyright 1993

I don't mean to deny a feeling of solitude. It is there, reinforced by the fact that radio contact with the Earth abruptly cuts off at the instant I disappear behind the moon, I am alone now, truly alone, and absolutely isolated from any known life. I am it. If a count were taken, the score would be three billion plus two over on the other side of the moon, and one plus God knows what on this side.

I don't want realism. I want magic. I live magic. I am magic.

I’d rather live in a world where I get to love the moon than in one where I don’t, even if the moon won’t return the feeling.

I'd take her to the top of the widow's tower at Ainsdale Castle, late at night, and we'd watch the moon rise. The widow's tower was very high but she wasn't afraid. Sometimes I'd steal a pie from the kitchens and we'd picnic up there. I brought up a blanket, too, so she wouldn't have to sit on the bare stone floor." Mrs. Crumb made an aborted movement, as if she'd meant to turn to face him and then changed her mind. He let the wineglass dangle by his side. "I told her a rabbit lived on the moon and she believed me. She believed everything I told her then." "What rabbit?" "There." He roused himself, straightening. He drew back, fitting her against his chest and setting his chin on her shoulder. She smelled of tea and housekeeperly things, and she was warm, so warm. He caught up her right hand in his and traced the moon with it. "D'you see? There are the long ears, there the tail, there the forepaws, there the back." "I see," she whispered. "I told her the rabbit had lavender fur and ate pink moon clover up there." His mouth twisted, as he remembered. "She'd watch me with big blue eyes, her mouth half-open, a bit of piecrust on her dress. She hung on every word." He could hear her breath, could feel the tremble of her limbs. Did she fear him? "D'you believe me?" he asked against her ear, his lips wet with wine. She was a housekeeper and housekeepers didn't matter in the grand schemes of kings and dukes and little girls who wished upon rabbit moons. But she was silent, damnable housekeeper. They breathed together for a moment, there in the night air, London twinkling before them, overhung by a pagan moon. At last she stirred and asked, "What happened to the girl?" He broke away from her, draining his glass of wine. "She grew up and knew me for a liar.

Even grief can be selfish.

If anyone understood loneliness, the moon would.

If I could choose a gift, a blessing from a star, I'd choose the simple way to get into your heart I'd pick the words that heal your very hidden scar And turn my every feeling into a work of art. If I could pick you up, from deep down where you are, I'd raise you to the stars and to the moon above I'd take you for a walk in my unending world, And let your soul unfold, with every single word.

If I have loved anyone truly it is you. You are the completeness of my incompleteness. You walked into my life and made me fall in love with life. I who was a wanderer in search of true love found the ocean of love in you. You came into my life like the rain to a parched desert. You made me understand the sensitivity and tenderness present within my own heart. You made a melancholy poet like me find the elixir of love. Your tenderness and sensitivity has pervaded into the very pore of my being. Last night you made me inhale the fragrance of the moon. I love you. And I can't love anyone else after you!

I find it curious that I never heard any astronaut say that he wanted to go to the Moon so he would be able to look back and see the Earth. We all wanted to see what the Moon looked like close up. Yet, for most of us, the most memorable sight was not of the Moon but of our beautiful blue and white home, moving majestically around the sun, all alone and infinite black space.

If I have loved anyone truly it is you. You are the completeness of my incompleteness. You walked into my life and made me fall in love with life. I who was a wanderer in search of true love found the ocean of love in you. You came into my life like the rain to a parched desert. You made me understand the sensitivity and tenderness present within my own heart. You made a melancholy poet like me find the elixir of love. Your tenderness and sensitivity has now pervaded into the very pore of my being. Last night you made me inhale the fragrance of the moon. I love you. And I can't love anyone else after you!

If I spelled out the Principles of Faith I would be barking on the moon.

If the Moon wants to show its beauty to the world, it must make a deal with the wind to disperse the clouds!

If the pull of the moon can disturb the ocean, why can’t the pull of planets cause a disturbance in the mind of creatures like us.

If the sky was the limit, none of our heroes would have reached the moon.

If you can be heartless as the first man who visited the space, then there will be nothing impossibe for you to achieve.

If you ever do something as cosmically stupid as that again, at least get it on video. You'll need a keepsake of this place when I fire your ass, and nobody will ever believe this one when you get back on the beach."  Cole Benson grinned. "Right. I can't even screw up good."  "Then don't screw up at all.”

If you ever do something as comically stupid as that again, at least get it on video. You'll need a keepsake of this place when I fire your ass, and nobody will ever believe this one when you get back on the beach." Cole Benson grinned. "Right. I can't even screw up good." "Then don't screw up at all.

If you had stars inside your brain cells, you'd probably understand what I am talking about.

If you think of the moon as already used, it’s not as difficult to take in, because then it’s just like you, Traveled the world like you, Seen the globe like you, But, it’s still bright.

...I got to love solitude - to see the Moon rise and set - I had time to watch it trace the window square across the wall in silent grace...

I hate the lackadaisical ennui of a sun too preoccupied with itself to notice the infinite hours we spend in its presence. The sun is an arrogant thing, always leaving the world behind when it tires of us. The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.

I have drunk the night and swallowed the stars. I am dancing with abandon and singing with rapture. There is not a thing I do not love. There is not a person I have not forgiven. I feel a universe of love. I feel a universe of light. Tonight, I am with old friends and we are returning home. The moon is our witness.

I have waltzed with wolves and howled at the moon. But my heart will always remember the slow-dance that ended much too soon.

In ancient times, it was said that the goddess Selene drove the moon across the sky. Each night she followed her brother Helios, the sun, to catch his fiery rays and reflect the light back to earth. One night on her journey, she looked down and saw Endymion sleeping in the hills. She fell in love with the beautiful shepherd. Night after night she looked down on his gentle beauty and loved him more, until finally one evening she left the moon between the sun and the earth and went down to the grassy fields to lie beside him. For three nights she stayed with him, and the moon, unable to catch the sun's rays, remained dark. People feared the dark moon. They said it brought death and freed evil forces to roam the black night. Zeus, King of the Gods, was angered by the darkness and punished Selene by giving Endymion eternal sleep. Selene returned to the moon and drove it across the night sky, but her love was too strong. She hid Endymion in a cave; and now, three nights each lunar month, she leaves the moon to visit her sleeping lover and cover him with silver kisses. In his sleep, Endymion dreams he holds the moon. He has given Selene many daughters to guard the night. They are powerful and beautiful like their mother, and mortal like their father.

I hope you will meet the moon - not a mountain.

I just want you to know that I love you with everything I am—a million times a million and to the moon and back.

I kept staring at the moon. I'm not sure if its light was good or evil. I thought it might not be either. The moon just shines with the light of chaos. Mysteriously. Brightly. That must not be either good or evil. Just as the rules of this world are not all good.

Il était tard; ainsi qu'une médaille neuve La pleine lune s'étalait, Et la solennité de la nuit, comme un fleuve Sur Paris dormant ruisselait.

I live by feeling, my intuition surfaces with the radiance of the moon; and the footing I take must be walked in truth. this world is too dark to think of it any other way.

...I live with regrets - the bittersweet loss of innocence - the red track of the moon upon the lake - the inability to return and do it again...

I'll think about you every day. Part of me is scared that there will come a time when you don't feel the same way,that you'll somehow forget what we shared, so this is what I want to do. Wherever you are and no matter what's going on in your life, when it's the first night of the full moon-like it was the first time we met-I want you to find it in the nighttime sky. I want you to think about me and the week we shared, because wherever I am and no matter what's going on in my life, that's exactly what I'll be doing. If we can't be together, at least we can share that, and maybe between the two of us, we can make it last forever.

I looked up from my writing, And gave a start to see, As if rapt in my inditing, The moon's full gaze on me.

...I looked out the window at walls of moonlit cloud rising beside us as though we we were at the bottom of some, gray and ivory canyon, hung above the moon-smashed sea... But, with whatever hindsight, I suppose the reason that I want to close on a consideration of these words is that the moon-solid progress through high, drifting cumulus is — read them again — at the very opposite of what we perceive on a liquid's tilting and untilting top, and so becomes the other privileged pole among the images of this study, this essay, this memoir. Or perhaps, as it is only a clause whose syntactic place has been questioned by my own unscholarly researches, I merely want to fix it before it vanishes like water, like light, like the play between them we only suggest, but never master, with the word motion.

I love you, Emma, to the moon and stars,” he whispered as his sobs ebbed. “I love you beyond the moon and all its glory. I love you brighter than the stars could ever burn in the sky, brat,” I answered back.

I love you to the moon and back is a nice thing to say as it means you love someone a hell of a lot but it is not enough to express what I feel for you. The moon is actually visible and the distance to the moon and back is caculatable so in a way limited. So what about I love you to beyond the universe and back instead. It just comes closer to what I feel for you than "to the moon and back".

I’m a moon junky. Every time I look at the moon I feel less alone and less afraid. I tell my boys that moonlight is a magic blanket and the stars above are campfires set by friendly aliens.

I'm convinced that before the year 2000 is over, the first child will have been born on the moon.

I’m in no hurry. What for? The sun and moon aren’t in a hurry: they’re right. Hurrying is believing people can get past their legs, Or that, jumping, they can land past their shadow. No; I don’t know how to hurry.

I’m in no hurry: the sun and the moon aren’t, either. Nobody goes faster than the legs they have. If where I want to go is far away, I’m not there in an instant. (6/20/1919)

I need you to love me the same way the moon orbits around the earth, without intention to stop. "Confessing the heart

I never thought before,” said Tirin unruffled, “of the fact that there are people sitting on a hill, up there, on Urras, looking at Anarres, at us, and saying, ‘Look, there’s the Moon.’ Our earth is their Moon; our Moon is their earth.” “Where, then, is Truth?” declaimed Bedap, and yawned. “In the hill one happens to be sitting on,” said Tirin.

In her fantastic mood she stretched her soft, clasped hands upward toward the moon. 'Sweet moon,' she said in a kind of mock prayer, 'make your white light come down in music into my dancing-room here, and I will dance most deliciously for you to see". She flung her head backward and let her hands fall; her eyes were half closed, and her mouth was a kissing mouth. 'Ah! sweet moon,' she whispered, 'do this for me, and I will be your slave; I will be what you will.' Quite suddenly the air was filled with the sound of a grand invisible orchestra. Viola did not stop to wonder. To the music of a slow saraband she swayed and postured. In the music there was the regular beat of small drums and a perpetual drone. The air seemed to be filled with the perfume of some bitter spice. Viola could fancy almost that she saw a smoldering campfire and heard far off the roar of some desolate wild beast. She let her long hair fall, raising the heavy strands of it in either hand as she moved slowly to the laden music. Slowly her body swayed with drowsy grace, slowly her satin shoes slid over the silver sand. The music ceased with a clash of cymbals. Viola rubbed her eyes. She fastened her hair up carefully again. Suddenly she looked up, almost imperiously. "Music! more music!" she cried. Once more the music came. This time it was a dance of caprice, pelting along over the violin-strings, leaping, laughing, wanton. Again an illusion seemed to cross her eyes. An old king was watching her, a king with the sordid history of the exhaustion of pleasure written on his flaccid face. A hook-nosed courtier by his side settled the ruffles at his wrists and mumbled, 'Ravissant! Quel malheur que la vieillesse!' It was a strange illusion. Faster and faster she sped to the music, stepping, spinning, pirouetting; the dance was light as thistle-down, fierce as fire, smooth as a rapid stream. The moment that the music ceased Viola became horribly afraid. She turned and fled away from the moonlit space, through the trees, down the dark alleys of the maze, not heeding in the least which turn she took, and yet she found herself soon at the outside iron gate. ("The Moon Slave")

...in January, everything seems desolate. The Moon ascends to cold heights - and I, a ragged sky filled with dark kisses...lie abandoned by you...

In part. She sat down and pulled her necklace out of her shirt. "I read about it in my mother's journal. The Witches believe we are all parts of a whole. Like the phases of the moon. Together, we complete the circle and bring balance.

In the morning, wonder and be generous like the sun. In the evening, meditate and be kind like the moon.