Gray sail against the sky, Gray butterfly! Have you a dream for going. Or are you the blind wind's blowing?
I could feel myself changing physically. It was like something dropped out of the sky. Seeing her on the fire escape had given me a certain feeling, and then when I saw the photograph of her, it gave me a similar feeling. And I thought that was an incredibly powerful thing - that a photograph could give you a feeling that was similar to a feeling you had in the physical world. Nobody could've told me that. I knew what I was going to do for the rest of my life.
And you know, talk about something else is falling from the sky. And that is an asteroid. What's coming our way? Is this an effect of perhaps global warming or just some meteoric occasion?
Who gave you the ability to contemplate the beauty of the skies, the course of the sun, the round moon, the millions of stars, the harmony and rhythm that issue from the world as from a lyre, the return of the seasons, the alternation of the months, the demarcation of day and night, the fruits of the earth, the vastness of the air, the ceaseless motion of the waves, the sound of the wind?
Aeronautics confers beauty and grandeur, combining art and science for those who devote themselves to it. . . . The aeronaut, free in space, sailing in the infinite, loses himself in the immense undulations of nature. He climbs, he rises, he soars, he reigns, he hurtles the proud vault of the azure sky . . .
For more than 50 years, men and women around the world have reported sights in the sky that are strange to their experience and understanding. Inasmuch as many of these sights appeared to be solid objects having impressive performance, they have become known as Unidentified Flying Objects (UFOs) or, colloquially, flying saucers. Their positive identification is one of the major public scientific challenges of the era, with a significant number of these sights so far defying all reasonable efforts at classification.
We pledge to fight 'blue-sky thinking wherever we find it. Life would be dull if we had to look up at cloudless monotony day after day.
When you train your thoughts to dissolve as they arise, they will cross your mind like a bird crosses the sky--without leaving a trace.
Up there on Huckleberry Mountain, I couldn't sleep ... As the sky broke light over the peaks of Glacier, I found myself deeply moved by the view from our elevation - off west the lights of Montana, Hungry Horse, and Columbia Falls, and farmsteads along the northern edge of Flathead Lake, and back in the direction of sunrise the soft and misted valleys of the parklands, not an electric light showing: little enough to preserve for the wanderings of a great and sacred animal who can teach us, if nothing else, by his power and his dilemma, a little common humility.
Here is something you have to understand about stories: They point you in the right direction but they can't take you all the way there. Stories are crescent moons; they glimmer in the night sky, but they are most exquisite in their incomplete state. Because people crave the beauty of not-knowing, the excitement of suggestion, and the sweet tragedy of mystery.
To wish for your own happiness is sometimes coupled with another's unhappiness. So then, what exactly should I pray for? Since I couldn't pray for my own happiness, I prayed to the moon in the night sky for the happiness of the one whose warm hand I held.
It is a pink and blue feeling, as sharp as clear sky; a slight breeze, and the edges of Lake Nakuru would rise like the ruffle at the edge of a skirt; and I am pockmarked with whole-body pinpricks of potentiality. A stretch of my body would surely stretch as far as the sky. The whole universe poised, and I am the agent of any movement.
We don't want to live in the dark moods of imponderable mystery, but neither do we want to miss them altogether. they allow us to emerge from the tender sadness of the manger to sing with the angels in the skies above.
That night it did not rain as much in the sky as it did in his heart.
Sometimes I look up at the stars and analyze the sky, And ask myself: was I meant to be here...why?
Why is the sky blue? Why is water wet? Why did Judas rat to the Romans while Jesus slept?
Don't you like when the winter's gone, And all of a sudden it starts gettin' warm? The trees and the grass start lookin' fresh, And the sun and sky be lookin' their best.
Sky is the limit and you know that you keep on, Just keep on pressin on. Sky is the limit and you know that you can have what you want, be what you want.
But whats it all worth, cant take it when you under this earth Rich men died and tried, but none of it worked They just rob your grave, Id rather be alive and paid Before my numbers called, historys made Somell fall, but I rise, thug or die Makin choices, that determine my future under the sky To rob steal or kill, Im wondering why Its a dirty game, is any man worthy of fame? Much to success to ya, even if you wish me the opposite Sooner or later we'll all see who the prophet is.
It is a flaw In happiness to see beyond our bourn, - It forces us in summer skies to mourn, It spoils the singing of the nightingale.
Our Creator shall continue to dwell above the sky, and that is where those on earth will end their thanksgiving.
Aim for the stars and maybe you'll reach the sky.
When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I'll bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.
We recognised that just putting more flights and more passengers into the skies over southeast England wasn't worth the environmental costs we-re paying.
Glad that I live am I; That the sky is blue; Glad for the country lanes, And the fall of dew.
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