Best 135 quotes in «moonlight quotes» category

Don't blame it on the sunshine. Don't blame it on the moonlight. Blame it on the boogie.

I am a fruitarian and I will only eat leaves picked by virgins in the moonlight - Steve Jobs

He who would see old Hoghton right Must view it by the pale moonlight.

How does it happen that something that makes so much sense in the moonlight doesn't make any sense at all in the sunlight?

Have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight?

How bright and transparent the moonlight of wisdom.

I don't think the sunrise is as good as the moonlight.

I caught a pebble in the moonlight.

I dissolved, so white, so unapproachable, amid my white flame, in the whiteness of moonlight

If there is moonlight outside, don't stay inside! If there is candle inside, don't stay outside! Moments of romanticism are too valuable to be missed!

Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania

I got up and walked back to my roominghouse. The moonlight was bright. My footsteps echoed in the empty street and it sounded as if somebody was following me, I looked around. I was mistaken. I was quite alone.

I have said no To everything, in order to get at myself. I have wiped away moonlight like mud.

I met her last summer on a moonlight boat trip.

It is that rare film [Moonlight] that comes along once in a while that catches the zeitgeist. This movie is that. I certainly have my fingers crossed that it is. Everyone needs to see this movie.

In pale moonlight / the wisteria's scent / comes from far away.

Like all good ruins, I look better by moonlight.

I was just really happy to see Barry [Jenkins] and Mahershala [Ali] and everyone else involved with "Moonlight" get their moment.

I wondered how they would top the Pirates and skeletons and moonlight, because that's a pretty cool concept.

Like Melrose Abbey, large cities should especially be viewed by moonlight.

Moonlight is sculpture.

Moonlight, white satin, roses. A bride.

Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight, someone's thinking of me and loving me tonight.

She smelled the way the Taj Mahal looks by moonlight.

The Bible without the Holy Spirit is a sundial by moonlight.

The beauty of the moonlight has no meaning for the bats and for the unfeeling minds!

There was only the cemetery itself, spread out in the moonlight like a soft grey hallucination, a stony wilderness of Victorian melancholy.

A time when sky blue love bids farewell to the day and before dusk falls, the sunset ignites the smouldering embers of the moonlit soul...

Above, the stars faded behind the misty sky, and the sun fanned its light upon us. We melted into each other until the dawn slid into dusk, and the sun paled into the moon, and the stars, once lost, became found again.

A soft finger touched his shoulder and he turned to see a little man smiling in the moonlight. He wore an indescribable hat, his eyes were wide and astonished, as if everything were happening for the first time, and he had a dark describable beard.

So I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight - watching over nothing.

A butterfly fluttered from flower to flower in the old garden, gracing the silvery-blue tips of the crocuses and what remained of the icy-white petals of the lady's prized tulips. The yellow strands on the butterfly's wings shimmered in the fading light, and Libby watched the creature in its journey, mesmerized by the graceful rise and fall of its dance. Her arms outstretched, Libby twirled around like she had as a girl, embracing the last rays of sunlight. Here in this garden, she was as free as the butterfly. Here she didn't have to hide. The butterfly climbed above the flowers and soared toward the lily pond. Beyond the pond were more flowers, hundreds of them, and then the trees. Soon the butterfly would curl up under a rock or leaf and rest for the night, hiding in the darkness, alone and vulnerable until the sun powered her wings again at dawn. Libby trailed the creature around the pond to see where it would land. If the night stayed warm, she might curl up beside the butterfly to rest, but not now. She no longer had to hide in these gardens. Soon the moonlight would glaze the paths with gold, and she would explore for hours, enveloped in the shadows and the light.

And so she remained, like everything that mattered to me then, secret—to be pursued in the woods by moonlight, when I was supposed to be studying.

An elegant behavior, an elegant look, an elegant word, an elegant posture, an elegant idea, they are all moonlight, mysterious and magical, calming and peaceful!

Autumn night— Silvery moonlight, wind in pine trees.

Be calm...calm as a calm lagoon, then you will look beautiful as a beautiful calm lagoon crowned by the Moon and sheltered by the brilliance of the stars reclaiming your royalty of regal life...

A Cathedral Façade at Midnight Along the sculptures of the western wall I watched the moonlight creeping: It moved as if it hardly moved at all Inch by inch thinly peeping Round on the pious figures of freestone, brought And poised there when the Universe was wrought To serve its centre, Earth, in mankind’s thought. The lunar look skimmed scantly toe, breast, arm, Then edged on slowly, slightly, To shoulder, hand, face; till each austere form Was blanched its whole length brightly Of prophet, king, queen, cardinal in state, That dead men’s tools had striven to simulate; And the stiff images stood irradiate. A frail moan from the martyred saints there set Mid others of the erection Against the breeze, seemed sighings of regret At the ancient faith’s rejection Under the sure, unhasting, steady stress Of Reason’s movement, making meaningless.

Beauty Lies Within The unknown

Fire and ice licked at his soul—whispered his name—drawing him deeper into the enveloping pain and blackness as he’d dreamed earlier. He suddenly wished to return to the rippling stream. The water would wash away the blistering pain…the fire…the burn. He’d wade deeper…submit to the current… He’d let go…

Bronze-limbed and well-knit, like a statue wrought by a Grecian, he stood on the sand with his back to the moon, and out of the foam came white arms that beckoned to him, and out of the waves rose dim forms that did him homage. Before him lay his shadow, which was the body of his Soul, and behind him hung the moon in the honey-coloured air.

Darkness disturbed By the haunting white moonlight Grey half clouds fail to contain The moon's lust for the night.

Even when the moon shrinks and disappears, it shows itself again gradually. When ancient people saw that eternal cycle of death and recovery, they prayed to the moon for their own rebirth. Rebirth. Will I be reborn? ... If I were reborn, what would I become?

Dazed, she glanced around; the dark shapes of huge leaves reared above the denser dark of heavy pots, grouped upon a tiled floor. Moonlight streamed through walls of long windows and panes in the ceiling, silvering paths wending between sends of palms and exotic blooms. The rich scents of earth and the warm humidity of growing things hung on the heavy air.

Do not think of yourself as a crescent moon, waiting for someone else to fill in the missing part of you. When you stand alone like a full moon, already complete in yourself, you will meet another person who is whole and complete just like you, and between you two, a healthy relationship can grow. Do not try and fit yourselves to each other to make one whole moon. Instead, be more like two full moons. You’ll respect each other’s individuality and interests while creating a relationship in which each of you shines brightly on the other

Don't compare her to sunshine and roses when she's clearly orchids and moonlight.

From the vast, invisible ocean of moonlight overhead fell, here and here, a slender, broken stream that seemed to plash against the intercepting branches and trickle to earth, forming small white pools among the clumps of laurel. But these leaks were few and served only to accentuate the blackness of his environment, which his imagination found it easy to people with all manner of unfamiliar shapes, menacing, uncanny, or merely grotesque. He to whom the portentous conspiracy of night and solitude and silence in the heart of a great forest is not an unknown experience needs not to be told what another world it all is - how even the most commonplace and familiar objects take on another character. The trees group themselves differently; they draw closer together, as if in fear. The very silence has another quality than the silence of the day. And it is full of half-heard whispers, whispers that startle - ghosts of sounds long dead. There are living sounds, too, such as are never heard under other conditions: notes of strange night birds, the cries of small animals in sudden encounters with stealthy foes, or in their dreams, a rustling in the dead leaves - it may be the leap of a wood rat, it may be the footstep of a panther. What caused the breaking of that twig? What the low, alarmed twittering in that bushful of birds? There are sounds without a name, forms without substance, translations in space of objects which have not been seen to move, movements wherein nothing is observed to change its place. Ah, children of the sunlight and the gaslight, how little you know of the world in which you live! ("A Tough Tussle")

going out late at night and laying in the dewy field and reading a Kurt Vonnegut book by moonlight.

Give me a moon-blanket night to keep me warm a long-gone smile to comfort me a pair of rain-blue eyes to haunt me a simple soul ...to love me.

I can’t imagine anything nicer than to sit out in the moonlight and listen to music—

How lucky our world is to have the Moon! How lucky we humans are to have the Moon! And finally how lucky our Moon is to have a view of the deep blue Earth!