And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder crawling cooped we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help-for it As impotently moves as you or I
At times the whole sky was ringed in shooting points and puckers of light gathering and falling, pulsing, fading, rhythmical as breathing. All of a piece. As if the sky were a pattern of nerves and our thought and memories traveled across it. As if the sky were one gigantic memory for us all.
I share my name with an aerobatic bird that can whiz across a whole summer sky in seconds. A swift is so equipped for speed that it can scarcely cope with being stationary.
The sky above us is something we have very little control of, and the space beyond is something we don't completely understand.
I'm never gonna be somebody who's gonna fall down from the sky on a trapeze. That's not me. I really want to make sure that my focus stays on connecting with the audience.
MoveOn loves government. It remains enamored of government spending as fuel for its liberal agenda; and anything that threatens to close that spigot in any degree is perceived as a dire threat - worthy of Chicken-Little warnings that the sky is going to fall.
I like to consider myself a star - a star, that when you look in the sky, it's always there. And on a clear night... a shooting star comes by, and get a little thrill, and you make a little wish. You need both types of stars, the shooting and the constant stars. The heavens include them all.
There's a pretty good chance that you're going to go down when you're on a motorcycle or if you're sky diving or whatever, but that happened before I even got this job, and I haven't sky dived since.
Ere land and sea and the all-covering sky Were made, in the whole world the countenance Of nature was the same, all one, well named Chaos, a raw and undivided mass, Naught but a lifeless bulk, with warring seeds Of ill-joined elements compressed together.
It's not written in the Constitution or anything else.... Congress, just out of the clear blue sky, said the airwaves belong to the people, which means, in essence, that it belongs to Congress.
Casper Wyo., population 18,000 when I was born, was large enough to hold the surprises of civilization, but small enough that the prairie was close by - for some in our town, right out the front door - stretching on forever, under the great curving sky.
I think the Earth and everything around it is connected - the sky and the planets and the stars and everything else we see as a mystery.
I always step on the plane with my right foot and touch the outside of the plane with my left hand. Sometimes you know there's someone standing there to welcome you to the plane and I have to kind of get them to move a little bit so I can put my hand on the outside of the plane. It's not a natural thing to be up in the sky in a little metal tube.
I'm fascinated with worlds where there's a small population left, whether it's a movie or these TV shows that fascinate me - 'Falling Skies' or 'The Walking Dead' - they are about survival and triumphing over difficult times. I just have a thing for 'em.
My grandmother flew only once in her life, and that was the day she and her new husband ascended into the skies of Victorian London in the wicker basket of a hot-air balloon. They were soon to emigrate to Canada, and the aerial ride was meant to be a last view of their beloved England.
Your eyes are like two jewels in the sky.
Fly me high through the starry skies or maybe to an astral plane, cross the highways of fantasy, help me to forget today's pain.
A black man, but I feel so blue. So I smoke green and purple to my dreams come true. And my eyes turn red, the sky turns grey.
I'm hooked my friend to the boy who makes slaves out of men, and oh believe me, flying high in a friendly sky.
The man on the radio says Elvis Presley's died. We drove to Memphis, the sky was hard and black.
Stepped out into the cold, collar high, under the slate gray sky. The air was smoking and the streets were dry, and I wasn't joking when I said goodbye.
Nature is imperfectly perfect, filled with loose parts and possibilities, with mud and dust, nettles and sky, transcendent hands-on moments and skinned knees.
Going around under an umbrella interferes with one's looking up at the sky.
Have a seat, while I take to the sky.
Was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. Not a negative word was heard.
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