Sky Quotes - Page 28

• The summer day is closed - the sun is set:
  Well they have done their office, those bright hours,
  The latest of whose train goes softly out
  In the red west. The green blade of the ground
  Has risen, and herds have cropped it; the young twig
  Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun;
  Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown
  And withered; seeds have fallen upon the soil,
  From bursting cells, and in their graves await
  Their resurrection. Insects from the pools
  Have filled the air awhile with humming wings,
  That now are still for ever; painted moths
  Have wandered the blue sky, and died again

  William C. Bryant

  Summer, Flower, Garden

  William Cullen Bryant, “From: An Evening Revery”

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• The life of an aviator seemed to me ideal. It involved skill. It brought adventure. It made use of the latest developments of science. Mechanical engineers were fettered to factories and drafting boards while pilots have the freedom of wind with the expanse of sky. There were times in an aeroplane when it seemed I had escaped mortality to look down on earth like a God.

  Charles Lindbergh

  Adventure, Wind, Skills

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• Over our manhood bend the skies; Against our fallen and traitor lives The great winds utter prophecies; With our faint hearts the mountain strives, Its arms outstretched, the druid wood Waits with its benedicite And to our age’s drowsy blood Still shouts the inspiring sea.

  James Russell Lowell

  Nature, Heart, Blood

  James Russell Lowell (1871). “The poetical works of James Russell Lowell”, p.117

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• Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, We are happy now because God so wills it; No matter how barren the past may have been, 'T is enough for us now that the leaves are green; We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell... The breeze comes whispering in our ear, That dandelions are blossoming near... Every thing is upward striving; 'T is as easy now for the heart to be true As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, - 'T is the natural way of living.

  James Russell Lowell

  Summer, Heart, Past

  James Russell Lowell, “The Vision Of Sir Launfal”

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• Suddenly all the sky is hid As with the shutting of a lid, One by one great drops are falling Doubtful and slow, Down the pane they are crookedly crawling, And the wind breathes low; Slowly the circles widen on the river, Widen and mingle, one and all; Here and there the slenderer flowers shiver, Struck by an icy rain-drop’s fall.

  James Russell Lowell

  Rain, Flower, Fall

  James Russell Lowell (1871). “The poetical works of James Russell Lowell”, p.7

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• Yes. There is one God, and he lives in the sky, and he hears all of us. It is just that here on earth, we are confused about how to believe in him. But what does it matter, as long as we trust he is there?

  Kristin Harmel

  Confused, Believe, Long

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• In winter there is no heat, no light, no noon, evening touches morning, there is fog, and mist, the window is frosted, and you cannot see clearly. The sky is but the mouth of a cave. The whole day is the cave.... Frightful season! Winter changes into stone the water of heaven and the heart of man.

  Victor Hugo

  Morning, Heart, Winter

  Victor Hugo (1862). “Les Misérables: Fantine”, p.107, Library of Alexandria

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• [I]t seemed as if the streets were absorbed by the sky, and the night were all in the air.

  Charles Dickens

  Night, Air, Streets

  Charles Dickens (1865). “Our Mutual Friend”, p.119

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• It was very dark; but in the murky sky there were masses of cloud which shone with a lurid light, like monstrous heaps of copper that had been heated in a furnace, and were growing cold.

  Charles Dickens

  Dark, Clouds, Light

  Charles Dickens (1872). “A Cyclopedia of the Best Thoughts of Charles Dickens”, p.456

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• The sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops as if it lacked the courage to rise, and the rain came slowly and doggedly down, as if it had not even the spirit to pour.

  Charles Dickens

  Rain, Dark, Air

  Charles Dickens (1838). “The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club”, p.347

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• The clouds were flying fast, the wind was coming up in gusts, banging some neighboring shutters that had broken loose, twirling the rusty chimney-cowls and weathercocks, and rushing round and round a confined adjacent churchyard as if it had a mind to blow the dead citizens out of their graves. The low thunder, muttering in all quarters of the sky at once, seemed to threaten vengeance for this attempted desecration, and to mutter, "Let them rest! Let them rest!

  Charles Dickens

  Blow, Clouds, Wind

  CHARLES DICKENS (1873). “LITTLE DORRIT”, p.153

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• A few amber clouds floated in the sky without a breath of air to move them. The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing gradually into a pure apple-green, and from that into the deep blue of the mid-heaven.

  Washington Irving

  Moving, Clouds, Air

  Washington Irving (1999). “Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Stories”, p.277, Penguin

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• A nasty day! A nasty day! 'Twas thus I heard a critic say Because the skies were bleak and gray— And yet it somehow seemed to me The day was all that it should be. I looked it very closely o'er; Its hours still were twenty-four, With sixty minutes each—no less— For deeds of good and helpfulness; And every second full of chance To give the day significance; And every hour full of growth For everybody but the sloth— I couldn't see it quite that way, For though the skies were bleak and gray The day itself, it seemed to me, Was all a day could rightly be.

  John Kendrick Bangs

  Attitude, Sixty Minutes, Giving

  John Kendrick Bangs (1920). “The Cheery Way: A Bit of Verse for Every Day”

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• Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies To listen to Earth’s weary voices Louder every day Bidding her no longer linger On her charm’d way But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun.

  Adelaide Anne Procter

  Spring, Rain, Fall

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• The leaves hop, scraping on the ground. It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice. It is in this solitude, a syllable, Out of these gawky flitterings, Intones its single emptiness, The savagest hollow of winter-sound.

  Wallace Stevens

  Winter, Ice, Solitude

  Wallace Stevens (2011). “The Palm at the End of the Mind: Selected Poems and a Play”, p.319, Vintage

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• Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky Thou shinest fair with many a lovely ray, Each in the other melting.

  Robert Southey

  Rainbow, Lovely, Promise

  Robert Southey (1847). “The Poetical Works of Robert Southey: Complete in One Volume”, p.108

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• Death by evaporation. May the saltwater wind that gets shot out of a barreling wave blow me away like an old puffy dandelion into the sky.

  Anthony Kiedis

  Blow, Wind, May

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• The current flows fast and furious. It issues in a spate of words from the loudspeakers and the politicians. Every day they tell us that we are a free people fighting to defend freedom. That is the current that has whirled the young airman up into the sky and keeps him circulating there among the clouds. Down here, with a roof to cover us and a gasmask handy, it is our business to puncture gasbags and discover the seeds of truth.

  Virginia Woolf

  War, Fighting, Clouds

  Virginia Woolf (2016). “The Collected Essays and Letters of Virginia Woolf - Including a Short Biography of the Author”, p.6, Read Books Ltd

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• The fact is that life has become a sweepstake. Millions of people who have lost the sense of being able to make anything of the collective effort of shaping their economic society, now expect fortune to descend like pie from the sky.

  Max Lerner

  Collective Effort, Pie, People

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• Women have no sense of the abstract-a woman admiring the sky is a woman caressing the sky. In a woman's mind beauty is something she needs to touch.

  Jean Giraudoux

  Women, Mind, Needs

  Jean Giraudoux (1964). “Collected Plays of Jean Giradoux”

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• Now, among the heresies that are spoken in this matter is the habit of calling a grey day a "colourless" day. Grey is a colour, and can be a very powerful and pleasing colour.... A grey clouded sky is indeed a canopy between us and the sun; so is a green tree, if it comes to that. But the grey umbrellas differ as much as the green in their style and shape, in their tint and tilt. One day may be grey like steel, and another grey like dove’s plumage. One may seem grey like the deathly frost, and another grey like the smoke of substantial kitchens.

  Gilbert K. Chesterton

  Powerful, Tree, Kitchen

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• Don't look for God in the sky; look within your own body.

  Rajneesh

  God, Looks, Body

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• That's what I call meditation. You simply stand aloof and just see the mind disappearing, like a cloud on a faraway horizon, leaving the sky clean and pure. And in that state arises your consciousness in its full glory, in its full celebration.

  Rajneesh

  Clouds, Meditation, Leaving

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• The very essence of meditation is to be so silent that there is no stirring of thoughts in you, that words don't come between you and reality, that the whole net of words falls down, that you are left alone. This aloneness, this purity, this unclouded sky of your being is meditation.

  Rajneesh

  Fall, Reality, Essence

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• If you want to ascend like the Prophet to the sky of immortality, know this very well: Fasting is your Arabian stallion.

  Rumi

  Want, Fasting, Immortality

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