Moon Quotes - Page 6

You’re a dreamer, boy,” he said. “Your mind is on the moon, and from the looks of things, it’s nevergoing to be anywhere else. You have no ambitions, you don’t give a damn about money, and you’retoo much of a philosopher to have any feeling for art. What am I going to do with you? You needsomeone to look after you, to make sure you have food in your belly and a bit of cash in your pocket.Once I’m gone, you’ll be right back where you started.

Last night I inhaled the fragrance of the Moon!

I never really thought about how when I look at the moon, it's the same moon as Shakespeare and Marie Antoinette and George Washington and Cleopatra looked at.

The lovelorn came, too. The alone. The lunatics-they were brought here, sometimes. Got their name from the moon, it was only fair the moon had a chance to fix things.

i want the moon tattooed on my wristsmy grandmother keeps asking me to pray, i don’t have the heart to tell her that mypoems are the only God i have left in memy mother keeps leaving without saying goodbyei wish she’d let me cut my hair in the 7th grade,maybe i’d know how to deal with loss by nowi told myself i’d stop kissing boys who didn’t know my namei said, i’d stop picking at my bones like broken decorations,i’d quit with the smoking and the drunken poems, and when i said things like “my bones are heavy” i would only mean itas a good thingheavy bones can’t be broken,you can’t break heavy bones

The moon was coming slowly up over the hill in front of them. The countryside was bathed in light, pale and cold and silvery. Everything could be seen quite plainly, and Lotta and Jimmy thought it was just like daytime with the colours missing.

The moon glistens in her dreamy eyes as she frolics in the dark forest. She’s got wild overgrowing in her bones, and tangles upon tangles of midnight weaving through her long silky hair, this belle of the night.

The werewolf by the moon. The wererat by money. (Loup garou par la lune. - Rat garou par les thunes.)

An hour later. the moon reflected its light on the Tigris as well. The sun, the moon, and Fatima. What else could I ask for?

The splendor of God is displayed in the stars with the magnificent of the moon.

The moon rose above the canopy and a dreamy mist swirled around our knees as we danced, fingers entwined and hearts in sync with the universe; just a prince and his princess, a boy and a girl, learning to love in a beautiful world.

Tomorrow at seven o'clock a strange phenomenon will occur: the earth is going to sit on the moon. This has also been written about by the noted English chemist Wellington. I confess, I felt troubled at heart when I pictured to myself the extraordinary delicacy and fragility of the moon. For the moon is usually made in Hamburg, and made quite poorly. I'm surprised England doesn't pay attention to this. It's made by a lame cooper, and one can see that the fool understands nothing about the moon. He used tarred rope and a quantity of cheap olive oil, and that's why there's a terrible stench all over the earth, so that you have to hold your nose. And that's why the moon itself is such a delicate sphere that people can't live on it, and now only noses live there. And for the same reason, we can't see our own noses, for they're all in the moon.

Mademoiselle De Lafontaine – in right of her father, who was a German, assumed to be psychological, metaphysical and something of a mystic – now declared that when the moon shone with a light so intense it was well known that it indicated a special spiritual activity. The effect of the full moon in such a state of brilliancy was manifold. It acted on dreams, it acted on lunacy, it acted on nervous people; it had marvelous physical influences connected with life. Mademoiselle related that here cousin, who was mate of a merchant ship, having taken a nap on deck on such a night, lying on his back, with his face full in the light of the moon, had wakened, after a dream of an old woman clawing him by the cheek, with his features horribly drawn to one side; and his countenance had never quite recovered its equilibrium.

...Neruda was right about all mysterious women - The moon lives in the lining of their skin...

The flirty old moon eased his way across the warped and sooty floorboards and kissed my bare toes, turning my feet as luminous as the skin of cinema stars.

She was prisoner to an old, forgotten god, kept from her home, probably never to see it again, and yet... the way she sat, poised, calm, clear like a full moon night, she seemed much happier than me, the witch who contained them all, the jailer with the magic key.

we have forgotten what night tastes like, salted by full moon silver rupturingthe dark. we have forgotten how the skin sings when the lunar fervor unfurls across its follicles.

The moon is your reminder that God is never-changing, and you can always depend on Him to hear your prayers.

Because the moon is not jealous of the sun, it benefits from its light.

Mahtab looked out of the window at the moon clearing the rooftops, bathing everything around in its silver light. She sighed, envying Nasim's freedom. For just like Mahtab's namesake, as the moonlight was beholden to the sun, she was beholden to her family.

Outside everything was uncannily visible in the light of the full moon, but here in the dark shaded alleys the night was conscious of itself. ("The Moon Slave")

She tips back her head and howls: Moooooown! Oh wonderful moooooowwwwwyyyn!

The moon knows,” is what he says, breath colored in liquor and a smile.Louis stares at him.“What are you talking about?”Another manic grin from Harry, and then he pulls him in again, his hand travelling to the side of Louis’ face, cradling his cheek.“The moon knows that we’re in love.

Every trace of the passionate plumage of the cloudy sunset had been swept away, and a naked moon stood in a naked sky. The moon was so strong and full, that (by a paradox often to be noticed) it seemed like a weaker sun. It gave, not the sense of bright moonshine, but rather of a dead daylight.

We all shine on...like the moon and the stars and the sun...we all shine on...come on and on and on...

She is like the white skies, the shine, the sun and its rhyme.While he is the darkness that blinds,the moon, the wolf in mysterious confines.

I will meet you where moon shines down upon our naked, writhing bodies, undulating together in a moment, which brings ecstasy to entwined hearts, beating as one...

On hands and knees the figure comes pacing along beside the wall that flanks the patio, lithe, sinuous, knife in mouth perpendicular to its course. In moonlight and out of it, as each successive archway of the portico circles high above it, comes down to join its support, and is gone again to the rear.The moon is a caress on supple skin. The moon of Anahuac understands, the moon is in league, the moon will not betray. ("The Moon of Montezuma")

A stylized sun and moon, joined by a horizontal bar, floated above a country divided in two by a river that snaked between them.

There is no moon. The stars have risen and fallen and given way to a new spread, to the smeared heart of our Milky Way.

The journey of the sun and moon is predictable. But yours, is your ultimate art.

They are forever looking into the nooks and crannies of a thing, whatever the thing may be. Always up very early or very late, going for rides on the backs of whales who deliver the mail; waking up covered in a secret language of hums; writing about the hobbies of feathers; changing shape like a cloud; howling at the moon; being a radioactive night-light in the dark; being a life raft on an ocean of alphabet soup; being great-hearted; being selfless; believing in tall tales, doodlebugs, and doohickeys. Believing. Believing in themselves. Believing in you.

When the moon gets bored, it kills whales. Blue whales and fin whales and humpback, sperm, and orca whales: centrifugal forces don’t discriminate.

nothing is lifelesswhen the moon writes its screedon the silvern sand silence-From the poem:"The Universe In Blossom

The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.

The sun is an arrogant thing, always leaving the world behind when it tires of us.The moon is a loyal companion.It never leaves. It's always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Everyday it's a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.

Every month there is a moon, gigantic, round, heavy, an omen. IT transits, pauses, continues on and passes out of sight, and I see despair coming towards me like famine. To feel that empty, again, again. I listen to my heart, wave upon wave, salty and red, continuing on and on, marking time.

it was the kind of moonthat I would want to send back to my ancestorsand gift to my descendantsso they know that I too,have been bruised...by beauty.

The weather appeared to have somewhat cleared up; the rain no longer fell, a fresh wind swept the streets, and the moon, now and then surrounded by dark clouds, now and then shining in full brilliancy, shed its rays, smooth and cold as blades of steel, upon the thousand pools of water lying in the hollows of the paving-stones. ("The Child Stealer")

While the astronauts, heroes forever, spent mere hours on the moon, I have remained in this new world for nearly thirty years. I know that my achievement is quite ordinary. I am not the only man to seek his fortune far from home, and certainly I am not the first. Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination." (from "The Third and Final Continent")

The other day she asked me "Will you forget me?"I smiled and looked at the sky and asked her: "Can the sky ever forget his moon?

We are not from here, my dear. So:Let the flames take over our bodies,‘cause I wanna merely burn with you.And we can dance until we become ashes,but don’t you dare leave me when we become pointless dust.Because this is when we canfinally blow away with the wind,back to that place where lovewas once real...

The moon can never breathe, but it can take our breath away with the beauty of its cold, arid orb.

The moon is the friendliest of the celestial bodies, after all, glowing warm and white and welcoming, like a friend who wants only to know that all of us are safe in our narrow worlds, our narrow yards, our narrow, well-considered lives. The moon worries. We may not know how we know that, but we know it all the same: that the moon watches, and the moon worries, and the moon will always love us, no matter what.

I slept under the moonlight and set my soul free, caged within jars like fireflies".

The moon will guide you through the night with her brightness, but she will always dwell in the darkness, in order to be seen.

I swear that girl was born with a pen in her hand, the moon in her hair, and stars in her soul.

Some people are just sad when there aren't talking squirrels.” —Lily Winter

I love you to the moon and back is a nice thing to say as it means you love someone a hell of a lot but it is not enough to express what I feel for you. The moon is actually visible and the distance to the moon and back is caculatable so in a way limited. So what about I love you to beyond the universe and back instead. It just comes closer to what I feel for you than "to the moon and back".

The flames of the luau bonfire burned brightly. Sparks flew into the sky and disappeared before they reached the stars above. Near the horizon, the moon was large and round and flawless as porcelain.

My only stake was the hook I shot in the moon, trying to capture stardom on my way to heaven. Without bravado. Just footsteps plodding me along till my big show. My showstopper. The one where I landed in a place without gravity.

When the sun goes down, melting away his caresses into the sky which consonants with the ocean, lively colors are scattered through the deep pale depth during some short sensuous instants. Later, as by art of magic, light is consumed into the infinite horizon giving space to the poked voidness and its full-cristal-covered vastness. Then, to mystify the night, a marvelous and alluring sentinel rests next to us through the vivid night, just until the next prismatic fest arrives with its celebrating aperture.

Where is it?" I asked, willing him to tell me.He laughed suddenly, and I could hear the full-throated, grating sound of the white bear's laughter in it."East of the sun and west of the moon," he said.

Lady Moon rose an' gazed o'er my busted'n'beautsome Valleys with silv'ry'n'sorryin' eyes, an' the dingos mourned for the died uns.

May your feet ever walk in the light of two suns... and may the moonshadow never fall on you...

On this night I had searched for them without success, fearing to find them; they were nowhere in the house, nor about the moonlit dawn. For, although the sun is lost to us for ever, the moon, full-orbed or slender, remains to us. Sometimes it shines by night, sometimes by day, but always it rises and sets, as in that other life.

The sun still lives his silent vows to the moon, by bowing to kiss her feet whenever she walks in the room.

you are here.the moontides are here.and that’s all that matters.

Let me take you in my arms, spilling down all my dreams into your eyes and draining down all my love into your heart. Let me make the whole universe sings the song that I wrote for you, where the sun craves to go down every morning and moon waits to raise again every night eagerly just to see us burn down the walls we have built around us, inside each other's arms.

Odd names: Winter, Autumn—they almost sound as if someone just made them up.” —Dubb