Best 2219 quotes in «sky quotes» category

For a moment, she thought it natural in a way seeing a plane fall from the sky can seem natural, too. The horror comes later.

For lunch, we drove into the hills and parked in the dappled shade of a big sycamore, its powdery white bark like a woman's body against the uncanny blue sky.

For this, for you, my heart will burn It whispers to me, what I speak now in turn: If the sun should hide, let it hide; If darkness drain the light, on moonbeams we ride. It matters not, For I am by your side. If the sky should fall, let it fall; If Death open his wings, ignore his dark call; Let the stars fade, let worlds collide; Let the seas boil, let chaos hold back the tide. It matters not, For you are by my side.

From the floor, I see the tops of the Philadelphia skyline out of her window. Staring at it, I realize that the night sky isn't really black, which is the way I've always thought of it. It's actually a dark shade of blue, the darkest possible.

From some angles, up is toward the earth and down toward the sky, and everything—people, horses, cathedrals, dreams—is suspended over the ceaseless void, barely hanging on.

From the sky, everything looked fake. The buildings were doll houses. The cars were Matchbox racers. People scuttled about, but they weren’t really people anymore. Their little lives meant absolutely nothing from this altitude.

Get out of here. Yoda so does not have an English accent!' 'Other than that you're saying I'm a dead ringer?' 'If the shoe fits.' 'Sheesh, I hate tall girls.

Go beyond the sky!

God begins to paint the clouds in the eastern sky when the mountains butterflies come flying home

Grand Sky/Grand Prairie Both harbor the vastness of space. One holds the space Of starlight, thunder snow, rock and icy comets, scrolls Of clouds; the other the spaces inside see heart and ovum, Root webs, spider webs, budded blossoms. They lean together tightly day and night, pressing One into the other, each creating the horizon of the other. They exchange themselves. At evening one becomes The steady night in which the other lives. Yet witness How the moon first rises from the body of the prairie Into the height of the sky that then possesses it. Their horizons are persistent illusion.

Grimmig verdrängt sie Slashs Abgang und dreht sich zu ihrem neuen Lehrer um. »War es denn nötig, dass du ihn auf die Palme bringst?« Sein Grinsen wird so breit, dass sie glaubt, seine gesamten Zähne zu sehen. »Ja. Ich muss sagen, es hat mir Spaß gemacht.« Dabei klingt er wie ein kleiner Junge, der gerade über ein neues Spielzeug berichtet, das er gewonnen hat. »Das heißt, ihr zwei könnt euch nicht leiden und du wolltest deine Scherze mit ihm treiben?« Nun blickt er sie empört an. »Aber nein, ich mag Slash. Trotzdem finde ich es witzig, ihn etwas zu erhitzen, wie man so schön sagt. Einmal haben Sky und ich sogar gewettet, wer ihn zuerst zum Ausrasten bringen kann.« Bei seinen Worten lacht er schallend, führt seine Erinnerung aber nicht näher aus. »In der Zwischenzeit haben wir eine Strichliste, um unsere Anzahl hin und wieder zu vergleichen.« »Das ist ein Scherz, oder?« Melo zuckt feixend mit den Schultern. »Er braucht das. Ein wenig Feuer und Aufregung tut unserem Slash ganz gut.«

Greet the world. Acknowledge the sky. Approach the stars. Embrace the universe.

Hair tangled with the wind Sun kissed face Lover of the forest the sea the sky and anything wild and free She’s a gypsy goddess.

Have an appreciating eye to enjoy the beauty of sky.

Happiness lives in every corner of your home and if you are homeless, it lives under the leaves of trees, hiding beneath the sky's cloudiness. All you need to do is to find it with patience.

Hazel, like nearly all wild animals, was unaccustomed to look up at the sky. What he thought of as the sky was the horizon, usually broken by trees and hedges.

He feels himself buried in those two infinities, the ocean and the sky, at one and the same time: the one is a tomb; the other is a shroud.

Healthy Earth Equals Healthy Inhabitants

He fell on his knees on that barren ground, Staring at the sky. And the sky opened up for him by raining. With the rain, every drop of his tear was washed down filling the cracks beneath. nobody got to see his pain and agony. And yet again he remained a mystery that was never solved.

He never looks away, searching my eyes for truth. His reaction has left my heart pounding, shocked at how quick he was to dismiss any fault I may have had. I wish he was just as quick to dismiss his own faults, but he isn't.

He looked upwards at the brilliant blue sky. It was high noon because the sun was right overhead. The clouds danced around slowly, while drifting across the sky. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth of the sun glowing orange on his eyelids. It was a wonderful feeling.

Here in Alpha City, we have a common saying: “What we call ‘sky’ is merely a figment of our narrative.” The most dreamy-eyed among us seem to adorn themselves and their aspirations in that proverb and you’ll see it everywhere: in advertisements on the sides of streetcars and auto-rickshaws, spelled out in studs and rhinestones on designer jackets, emblazoned in the intricate designs of facial tattoos—even painted on city walls by putrid vandals and inspiring street artists. There is something glorious about kneading out into the doughy firmament the depth and breadth of one’s own universe, in rendering the contours of a sky whose limits are predicated only upon the bounds of one’s own imagination. The fact of the matter is that we cannot see the natural sky at all here. It is something like a theoretical mathematical expression: like the square-root of ‘negative one’—certainly it could be said to have a purpose for existing, but to cast eyes upon it, in its natural quantity, would be something akin to casting one’s eyes upon the raw elements comprising our everyday sustenance. How many of us have even borne close witness to the minute chemical compounds that react to lend battery power to our portable electronics? The sky is indeed such a concealed fixture now. It is fair to say that we have purged our memories of its true face and so we can only approximate a canvas and project our desires upon it to our heart’s dearest fancy. The most cynical among us would ostensibly declare it an unavoidable tragedy, but perhaps even these hardened individuals could not remember the naked sky well enough to know if what they were missing was something worthwhile. Perhaps, it’s cynical of me to say so! In any case, we have our searchlights pointed upwards and crisscrossing that expanse of heavens as though to make some sensational and profane joke of ourselves to the surrounding universe. We beam already video images of beauty pageants and dancing contests with smiling mannequins who look like buffoons. And so, the face of space cloaks itself behind our light pollution—in this respect, our mirrored sidewalks and lustrous streets do little to help our cause—and that face remains hidden from us in its jeering ridicule, its mocking laughter at this inexorable farce of human existence.

...He sat back on his heels and watched the stars one by one cut their way through onrushing darkness, till all was reversed, day was night, and the blackness glittered with all the desert's sands, each a tiny flame beyond the bounds of time.

Her gaze traveled across the western sky that was dotted with clouds and was held by the wintry looking sun, so pure, so lovely, and so impossible to touch. Sheila felt that that was how her love was - Out of reach, unquestionably warm, and as certain as the celestial ball.

He stared up at the moon, which looked like a giant hole in the sky, letting light through to the other side.

He slept under the sky, holding her hand, filling the gaps between her fingers and losing himself inside the soul in the course of counting the stars, she was hiding inside her eyes.

He's seeing the actual Milky Way streaked across the sky. The whole of his entire galaxy, right there in front of him. Billions and billions of stars. Billions and billions of worlds. All of them, all of those seemingly endless possibilities, not fictional, but real, out there, existing, right now. There is so much more out there than just the world he knows, so much more than his tiny Washington town, so much more than even London. Or England. Or hell, for that matter. So much more that he'll never see. So much more that he'll never get to. So much that he can only glimpse enough of to know that it's forever beyond his reach.

He started hammering the ground with all his might and the sky opened up, raining heavily on him. He looked at the sky, heard that thunder and saw that lightning. He laughed maniacally before raising the hammer again.

He stayed under the fluorescent street light until the sounds of traffic and nightlife faded into silence, and only then did he look up into the night sky, the way he usually did when he was looking for answers.

He stopped and leaned against a pole and looked up at the deaf and swollen sky. It was a movement of dark shapes, a hurrying, a running. He closed his eyes. ("Hunger")

He was in a fairy kingdom where everything was possible. He looked up at the sky. And the sky was a fairy realm like the earth. It was clearing, and over the tops of the trees clouds were swiftly sailing as if unveiling the stars.

He who owns the sky owns the stars.

He went to sleep as soon as they'd gone, waking in the middle of the night and walking outside into a sky whose stars hung so low he felt he strolled among them and he could see indeed, so clear the air, the very flames of their inner workings.

Hopes, wants and wishes, all cast across the night sky with my heart in tow.

His heart is pounding and when he kisses her it is as if the whole of Riyadh disappears – the wide sky, the hard surface of the roof, the date palms and the water wells.

Hope is a helium balloon. It is a wish lantern set out into the dark sky of night.

Human body is a hanging garden too. It hangs from the sky with feet touching the earth. The same way tree hangs from the earth with it’s leaves touching the sky.

How many people must there be, who are completely unknown in this world, but they are famous in the sky." There are people on this earth who may seem insignificant to you and me. But they are beloved to Allah and their name is constantly mentioned among the angels in the sky.

I adore the sky wearing rainbow shawl of love for the birds so that they could fly free in warmth after the storm

I am running and singing and when it’s raining I’m the only one left on the open street, smiling with my eyes fixed on the sky because it’s cleaning me. I’m the one on the other side of the party, hearing laughter and the emptying of bottles while I peacefully make my way to the river, a lonely road, following the smell of the ocean. I’m the one waking up at 4am to witness the sunrise, where the sky touches the sea, and I hold my elbows, grasping tight to whatever I’ve made of myself.

I always assumed everybody shared my love for overcast skies. It came as a shock to find out that some people prefer sunshine.

I am sitting here, staring at the dark sky and drunk with memories. laughing like a maniac while crying an ocean. Somewhere it feels like somebody is kissing my lips passionately. While they are continuously pushing a knife, deep into my chest.

I am permitted to travel in the corridor between sky and heather" from the poem "Beyond the Beacon" in TerraAffirmative

I believed I could identify the scent of the sky as I stood there, a blue menthol fragrance similar to the scent of seawater that sprayed into my face when I first dove into the ocean. That initial scent was much more subtle than the ocean's heavy, fishy aroma; it was a whiff of salt and mint, just as I approached the water on a dive, that warned me that a more powerful scent would soon enter my nose. It was the scent I dreamed in. And it was the scent of that spring sky as I stood in my yard.

[Asteroids are] the vermin of the skies. [Asteroids can block objects of interest on astronomical photographs.]

I am your earth if you want me to be. I am your sky if you want me to be. I am your sun if you want me to be. I am your world if you want me to be. I am your universe if you want me to be.

I don't want a rainbow... Rainbows have too many colors and none of them receive the appreciation they deserve... I'd prefer a fading red or a striking golden, a shimmery silver or a sober blue... Ruling the sunset sky alone!

I can sense your love, why leave me in darkness? Beguile me for your amusement, stealing my soul without kisses. You are the sun and I, the moon. Your beauty is reflected in my eyes. When we are apart, I am extinguished in the blackness of these skies.

I can't help but watch his lips as they cover the opening of the bottle that my lips were just touching. We're practically kissing.

If birds did not believe in their ability to fly, the sky would be empty.