Best 2219 quotes in «sky quotes» category

The lid, however, wouldn't shut. The mind held back the whole sky.

The light irradiates white peaks of Annapurna marching down the sky, in the great rampart that spreads east and west for eighteen hundred miles, the Himalaya- the alaya (abode, or home) of hima (snow).Hibiscus, frangipani, bougainvillea: seen under snow peaks, these tropical blossoms become the flowers of heroic landscapes. Macaques scamper in green meadow, and a turquoise roller spins in a golden light. Drongos, rollers, barbets, and white Eqyptian vulture are the common birds, and all have close relatives in East Africa.

The lights are off and the sun if finally setting, the night sky is changing overhead

The moon cannot hold the sun, You can. Your head only, can hold the moon, the sun and an entire galaxy. You are the sky.

the moon is just another kind of clock

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

The more beautiful the sky, the more hopeless the neighborhood.

The morning sky is a thought of the stars.

The night sky made her feel infinite before she knew the word.

The night had a nearly liquid quality, was like sliding into a warm swimming pool, a pool filled with buoyant darkenss instead of water.

The number of ways to live in one lifetime is limitless. So why limit yourself?

The other day she asked me "Will you forget me?" I smiled and looked at the sky and asked her: "Can the sky ever forget his moon?

The other day, when I was deciding where to place a mountain range, how to make a river's flow detour around underground stalactite caves, and what precise color to give the sky at sunset, I realized I was God... or an artist and a writer.

There are these little things about you and everything that you do. The beauty of which the mere words can't cage or explain. Moments that grabs me in its arms, throws me to the sky, bangs me back on the earth and throws me into the sea. Like I am dead for a moment watching you. And the next second I am breathing heavily and trying hard to swim in the magic of you.

The pools had been written onto the fields by the rain. The pools were a magic worked by the rain, just as the tumbling of the black birds against the grey was a spell that the sky was working and the motion of grey-brown grasses was a spell that the wind made. Everything had meaning.

The question is, what colour will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?

The pond is clear, but it isn't this beyond the sea blue and has never been. The sky is blue, but it isn't this strikingly bright and vivid nor has it ever been. But together, and in each other's company, they are more beautiful than they could ever have been alone...

There are landscapes in which we feel above us not sky but space. Something larger, deeper than sky is sensed, is seen, although in such settings the sky itself is invariably immense. There is a place between the cerebrum and the stars where sky stops and space commences, and should we find ourselves on a particular prairie or mountaintop at a particular hour, our relationship with sky thins and loosens while our connection to space becomes solid as bone.

There are people who are always in love with the sky, no matter the weather. One day you will find someone who’ll love you the same way.

There are times when a man has need of the open heavens to compass his thoughts.

The reason the stars are so high up into the sky is because they belong to those with high determination

There is no place like the beach... where the land meets the sea and the sea meats the sky

There is a whisper of light if you can hear Louder than sound of darkness you never fear Numb sky’s muteness leaves you hard of hearing Senses wish to fly feelings disappearing

There is no moon. The stars have risen and fallen and given way to a new spread, to the smeared heart of our Milky Way.

There is a night school where you shall meet great teachers: The sky! When the night falls, the shining stars in the school will teach you how small you are and how comical to own an ego!

There is no limit on the level that the reflections can be at and in a modern environment, such as a city, the albedo can increase the power levels many times of the sky based solar radiation of direct and diffuse combined. The trees prevent the albedo reflections from occurring.

There's too much blank sky where a tree once stood.

There’s nothing wrong in dreaming when you are awake Reality is brimming with hunger, love and ache The sky is unsure why the arid moor feels bleak Quaking of earth to lure the narrowness of creek From the poem- Sprinkled

There were days so clear and skies so brilliant blue, with white clouds scudding across them like ships under full sail, and she felt she could lift right off the ground. One moment she was ambling down a path, and the next thing she knew, the wind would take hold of her, like a hand pushing against her back. Her feet would start running without her even willing it, even knowing it. And she would run faster and faster across the prairie, until her heart jumped like a rabbit and her breath came in deep gasps and her feet barely skimmed the ground. It felt good to spend herself this way. The air tasted fresh and delicious; it smelled like damp earth, grass, and flowers. And her body felt strong, supple, and hungry for more of everything life could serve up. She ran and felt like one of the animals, as though her feet were growing up out of the earth. And she knew what they knew, that sometimes you ran just because you could, because of the way the rush of air felt on your face and how your legs reached out, eating up longer and longer patches of ground. She ran until the blood pounded in her ears, so loud that she couldn't hear the voices that said, You're not good enough, You're not old enough, You're not beautiful or smart or loveable, and you will always be alone. She ran because there were ghosts chasing her, shadows that pursued her, heartaches she was leaving behind. She was running for her life, and those phantoms couldn't catch her, not here, not anywhere. She would outrun fear and sadness and worry and shame and all those losses that had lined up against her like a column of soldiers with their guns shouldered and ready to fire. If she had to, she would outrun death itself. She would keep on running until she dropped, exhausted. Then she would roll over onto her back and breathe in the endless sky above her, sun glinting off her face. To be an animal, to have a body like this that could taste, see hear, and fly through space, to lie down and smell the earth and feel the heat of the sun on your face was enough for her. She did not need anything else but this: just to be alive, cool air caressing her skin, dreaming of Ivy and what might be ahead.

There was a skyness to the sky and a nowness to the world that he had never seen or felt or realized before.

these raindrops make me feel the sky is crying when the whole world goes up in flames may be she will not have any more tears to cry rivers are drying up tsunamis come uninvited acid rain has made inroads of what chemicals are tears made of why do I cry every time it rains...

The same birds still flew from them like signal flares, razored the air with their cries.

These are moments of love and ecstasy. Deeply moving moments when we will fly! Fly together in the azure blue sky!

The sky can never be frozen because its vastness has chosen all warmth of our lives as we look above with unbreakable hearts armoured in love

The sky above us seems huge, vast. It’s clear and crisp and visibility is so good that, when I look up, I feel like I'm staring at an inverted, endless ocean. I'm sure the blue is the colour of water above sand and the tiny, wispy clouds look like waves breaking over distant swells. I envy the birds I see overhead, zipping joyfully from left to right and so far above the death and decay that pollute the lower levels. A day like this should be enjoyed completely. I should be able to forget what dwells in the towns around us, I should find it in myself to dismiss what happened at that crossing, I should.

The sky blue strengthens slowly, the dawn light rosy and pale the summer song of our romance begin to unveil...with every heart beat and the waves' breath...the time stood in harmony still. Your morning kiss my hands could feel...by your lips soft, so warm, so very gentle, nice and full of life...

The sky inside my head never turns blue. It if forced to stay red. By the demon, who is yellow inside me.

The sky was dark blue twilight, pretty to look at but lonely to walk under.

The sky was the yellow color of old cheese and the clouds flew across it, as if they had seen something horrifying in the desert wastes where they had so lately been.

The sky is grey, with a thin TV-static drizzle that hangs in the air like it's been freeze-framed.

The sky is the limit for the extraordinary, the universe is not even the limit for the divine.

The sky is white. It smells of the earth, and it is not there. The sky is white like the earth, and it smells of yesterday. All this was tomorrow. All this was a hundred years from now.

The sky mingled with the Earth infinitely in the tenderness of rain drops.

The skyscrapers of the city had finished scraping all the sky away, and the clouds overhead were exactly the color of concrete and I was safe and cold in a canyon of glass and steel.

The sky was low and broody, but from here, near the treeline, you could see the forest rolling down into the valley, the lake tucked away like a pocket mirror.

The snow had vanished, and already the grass had returned to the fields, and the leaves to the branches: what a marvelous time! To kiss the sky with his sun-drenched lips?

The sky never falls with the rain. It is never weighed down by all that it carries. It takes all of its anchors and turns them into stars. Learn from this.

The sky's always falling. Always. You'll see. People have no idea.

The sky's inclemency stirs up the angry winds; the watery clouds are soaking with ceaseless rain. The turbulent Vltava, swollen with rainy waves, Bursting, impetuous, breaks through its river banks.