Many religions have attempted to make statues of their gods very large, and the idea, I suppose, is to make us feel small. But if that's their purpose, they can keep their paltry icons. We need only look up if we wish to feel small.
I know that I am mortal by nature, and ephemeral; but when I trace at my pleasure the windings to and fro of the heavenly bodies I no longer touch the earth with my feet: I stand in the presence of Zeus himself and take my fill of ambrosia
Look down and you may miss a shooting star in the sky. Look up and you may miss a starfish in the sand. But quick, look straight ahead and tell me what is that big, blurry thing that’s so bright? Oh yeah, that’s my love for you.
I had a dream about you. The sky looked threatening, and hail the size, shape, and color of boxing gloves started pounding us in the face. Luckily my mustache looked like Chuck Norris, and you were able to take shelter under my nose.
The other day, when I was deciding where to place a mountain range, how to make a river's flow detour around underground stalactite caves, and what precise color to give the sky at sunset, I realized I was God... or an artist and a writer.
Blossom time, drunk together, banishing spring sorrow;drunk, we broke off flowering limbs, counters for our rounds of wine.Suddenly I remembered my old friend, gone to the edge of the sky:by my reckoning, today he must have reached Liang-chou.
Victor patted my hand. 'I like you, Sky. You're a fighter.''I am, aren't I? Hear that, Zed? No more bambi comparisons. I'm a Rottweiler -with a temper.''A very small Rottweiler,' said Zed, still not convinced.
Just take my hand, lead, dance with me...and I will simply follow the blueness of the water, the white waves rolling free...where the earth beneath my feet and stars make my heart whole again...in long and priceless moments of shared solitude...
I'll figure out how to be truer: to let people go if they need to be let go of, and to hold on tight if that's what's called for. I will pay attention, so I can cross each human heart that comes across my path, cross it as true as I can.
Because the difference between a friend and a real friend is that you and the real friend come from the same territory, of the same place deep inside you, and that means you see the world in the same kind of way. You know each other even before you do.
Those shiny eyes like the stars in the sky; but black and brown, And those beautiful lips like the flowers but sugary And those kind smells, lovable but with no purpose All meant to be for me? Someone must have been praying and wishing me the whole world
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.
Few of us have seen the stars as folk saw them then - our cities and towns cast too much light into the night - but, from the village of Wall, the stars were laid out like worlds or like ideas, uncountable as the trees in a forest or the leaves on a tree.
Whatever connection we thought we had before this...it doesn't compare to this moment. No matter what happens between us in life, this moment has just merged pieces of our souls together. Well always have that, and in a way it's comforting to know.
The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.
