Under the sky is no uglier spectacle than two men with clenched teeth and hell-fire eyes hacking one another's flesh, converting precious living bodies and priceless living souls into nameless masses of putrescence, useful only for turnip-manure.
Thou dost not strive, O Sun, but, meek and still, / Thou dost the type of Jesus best fulfil, / A noiseless revelation in the sky.
Quid si nunc c?lum ruat?=--What if the sky should now fall?
To understand that the sky is blue everywhere, we need not go round the world.
Here 's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate; And whatever sky 's above me, Here 's a heart for every fate.
And every eye Gaz'd, as before some brother of the sky.
A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye; Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
Here's a sigh for those who love me, / And a smile for those who hate, / And whatever sky's above me, / Here's a heart for every fate.
And down the street―I'm not averting my eyes now―a man in a patched jumper is painting the door to his house sky blue. Two small boys, who have been walloping one another with sticks, are begging him to let them help. He is giving them a tiny brush apiece. So―perhaps there is an end to war.
In every landscape the point of astonishment is the meeting of the sky and the earth, and that is seen from the first hillock as well as from the top of the Alleghanies.
You believe in a book that has talking animals, wizards, witches, demons, sticks turning into snakes, burning bushes, food falling from the sky, people walking on water, and all sorts of magical, absurd and primitive stories, and you say that we are the ones that need help?
As long as man loves a phantom in the sky more than he loves his fellow man, there will never be peace upon this earth; so long as man worships a Tyrant as the "Fatherhood of God," there will never be a "Brotherhood of Man.
Tho' lost to sight, to mem'ry dear Thou ever wilt remain; One only hope my heart can cheer,-- The hope to meet again. Oh fondly on the past I dwell, And oft recall those hours When, wand'ring down the shady dell, We gathered the wild-flowers. Yes, life then seem'd one pure delight, Tho' now each spot looks drear; Yet tho' thy smile be lost to sight, To mem'ry thou art dear. Oft in the tranquil hour of night, When stars illume the sky, I gaze upon each orb of light, And wish that thou wert by. I think upon that happy time, That time so fondly lov'd, When last we heard the sweet bells chime, As thro' the fields we rov'd. Yes, life then seem'd one pure delight, Tho' now each spot looks drear; Yet tho' thy smile be lost to sight, To mem'ry thou art dear.
The affection of young ladies is of as rapid growth as Jack's beanstalk, and reaches up to the sky in a night.
God comes to us in the likeness of man--there is no other likeness for God. And that likeness is not forbidden, Christ has taught us to see and love God in man. We cannot go further. If we attempt to conceive anything more than human, our mind breaks down. But we can conceive and perceive the Divine in man, and most in those who are risen from the earth. While we live our love is human, and mixed with earthly things. We love and do not love--we even hate, or imagine we do. But we do not really hate any man, we only hate something that surrounds and hides man. What is behind, the true nature of man, we always love. Death purifies man, it takes away the earthly crust, and we can love those who are dead far better than those who are still living: that is the truth. We do not deceive ourselves, we do not use vain words. Love is really purer, stronger, and more unselfish when it embraces those who are risen. That is why the Apostles loved Christ so much better when He was no longer with them. While He lived, Peter could deny Him--when He had returned to the Father, Peter was willing to die for Him. All that is so true, only one must have gone through it, felt it oneself, in order to understand it. If one knows the love one feels for the blessed, one wants no temporary resurrection to account for the rekindled love of the Apostles. They believed that Christ had truly risen, that death had no power over Him, that He was with the Father. Was not that more, far more, than a return to this fleeting life for a few hours, or days, or weeks, or than an ascent through the clouds to the blue sky? Ah! how the great truths have been exchanged for small fancies, the _mira_ for the _miracula_.
That saints will aid if men will call; For the blue sky bends over all!
Banners flout the sky.
How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures; nor cloud, or speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven: In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark blue depths; Beneath her steady ray The desert circle spreads Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. How beautiful is night!
My heart leaps up when I behold / A rainbow in the sky: / So was it when my life began, / So is it now I am a man; / So be it when I shall grow old, / Or let me die.
How many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows That too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind.
Incens'd with indignation Satan stood Unterrify'd, and like a comet burn'd That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war.
Thy spirit, Independence, let me share; / Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye! / Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, / Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky!
The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.
As if the man had fixed his face, In many a solitary place, Against the wind and open sky!
The silence that is in the starry sky.
Heart of my heart, we cannot die! Love triumphant in flower and tree, Every life that laughs at the sky Tells us nothing can cease to be: One, we are one with the song to-day, One with the clover that scents the world, One with the Unknown, far away, One with the stars, when earth grows old.
Serus in c?lum redeas diuque / L?tus intersis populo=--May it be long before you return to the sky, and may you long move up and down gladly among your people.
The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed.
Thy spirit, Independence, let me share; Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye, Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.
I grow aware of various forms of man and of myself. I am form and I am formless, I am life and I am matter, mortal and immortal. I am one and many — myself and humanity in flux. I extend a multiple of ways in experience in space. I am myself now, lying on my back in the jungle grass, passing through the ether between satellites and stars. My aging body transmits an ageless life stream. Molecular and atomic replacement change life's composition. Molecules take part in structure and in training, countless trillions of them. After my death, the molecules of my being will return to the earth and sky. They came from the stars. I am of the stars.
THE WRATH TO COME. — MATTHEW 3:7 I t is pleasant to pass over a country after a storm has spent itself—to smell the freshness of the herbs after the rain has passed away, and to note the drops while they glisten like purest diamonds in the sunlight. That is the position of a Christian. He is going through a land where the storm has spent itself upon His Savior’s head, and if there be a few drops of sorrow falling, they distill from clouds of mercy, and Jesus cheers him by the assurance that they are not for his destruction. But how terrible it is to witness the approach of a tempest—to note the forewarnings of the storm; to mark the birds of heaven as they droop their wings; to see the cattle as they lay their heads low in terror; to discern the face of the sky as it grows black, and to find the sun obscured, and the heavens angry and frowning! How terrible to await the dread advance of a hurricane, to wait in terrible apprehension till the wind rushes forth in fury, tearing up trees from their roots, forcing rocks from their pedestals, and hurling down all the dwelling-places of man! And yet, sinner, this is your present position. No hot drops have fallen as yet, but a shower of fire is coming. No terrible winds howl around you, but God’s tempest is gathering its dread artillery. So far the water-floods are dammed up by mercy, but the floodgates will soon be opened: The thunderbolts of God are still in His storehouse, the tempest is coming, and how awful will that moment be when God, robed in vengeance, shall march forth in fury! Where, where, where, O sinner, will you hide your head, or where will you run to? May the hand of mercy lead you now to Christ! He is freely set before you in the Gospel: His pierced side is the place of shelter. You know your need of Him; believe in Him, cast yourself upon Him, and then the fury shall be past forever.
Washington is in the clear upper sky.
In Balder's hand Christ placed His own, And it was golden weather, And on that berg as on a throne The Brethren stood together! And countless voices far and wide Sang sweet beneath the sky — "All that is beautiful shall abide, All that is base shall die."
The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim.
Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.
I sit by the window and watch the rain and the leaves and the snow collide. They take turns dancing in the wind, performing choreographed routines for unsuspecting masses. The soldiers stomp stomp stomp through the rain, crushing leaves and fallen snow under their feet. Their hands are wrapped in gloves wrapped around guns that could put a bullet through a million possibilities. They don’t bother to be bothered by the beauty that falls from the sky. They don’t understand the freedom in feeling the universe on their skin. They don’t care.
A charge to keep I have, A God to glorify; A never dying soul to save, And fit it for the sky.
Let us weep in our darkness, but weep not for him! Not for him who, departing, leaves millions in tears! Not for him who has died full of honor and years! Not for him who ascended Fame's ladder so high From the round at the top he has stepped to the sky.
The Stones This is the city where men are mended. I lie on a great anvil. The flat blue sky-circle Flew off like the hat of a doll When I fell out of the light. I entered The stomach of indifference, the wordless cupboard. The mother of pestles diminished me. I became a still pebble. The stones of the belly were peaceable, The head-stone quiet, jostled by nothing.
Cujus est solum, ejus est usque ad c?lum=--He who owns the soil owns everything above it to the very sky.
Like the sun and the moon, we were always meant to be in the same sky.
Consent in virtue knit your hearts so fast, That still the knot, in spite of death, does last; For as your tears, and sorrow-wounded soul, Prove well that on your part this bond is whole, So all we know of what they do above, Is that they happy are, and that they love. Let dark oblivion, and the hollow grave, Content themselves our frailer thoughts to have; Well-chosen love is never taught to die, But with our nobler part invades the sky.
Fly, dotard, fly! With thy wise dreams and fables of the sky.
Before you, Bella, my life was like a moonless night. Very dark, but there were stars, points of light and reason. ...And then you shot across my sky like a meteor. Suddenly everything was on fire; there was brilliancy, there was beauty. When you were gone, when the meteor had fallen over the horizon, everything went black. Nothing had changed, but my eyes were blinded by the light. I couldn’t see the stars anymore. And there was no more reason, for anything.
Massigkeit und klarer Himmel sind Apollo und die Musen=--Moderation and a clear sky are Apollo and the Muses.
Quot c?lum stellas, tot habet tua Roma puellas=--There are as many girls in your Rome as there are stars in the sky.
Aim for the stars and maybe you'll reach the sky. People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening, People writing songs that voices never share, and no one dare disturb the Sound of Silence.
Of all the creatures that creep, swim or fly, Peopling the earth, waters and the sky, From Rome to Iceland, Paris to Japan, I really think, the greatest fool is man.
Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, / And all beneath the sky! / May coward shame distain his name, / The wretch that dares not die.
Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.
The dews of summer nights did fall, The moon, sweet regent of the sky, Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall And many an oak that grew thereby.
We all live under the same sky, but we don't all have the same horizon. In an instant age, perhaps we must relearn the ancient truth that patience, too, has its victories.
We are not trapped or locked up in these bones. No, no. We are free to change. And love changes us. And if we can love one another, we can break open the sky.
Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is really worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass them on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise.
Me let the tender office long engage To rock the cradle of reposing age; With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death; Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep awhile one parent from the sky.
Come! Let us lay a lance in rest, And tilt at windmills under a wild sky! For who would live so petty and unblest That dare not tilt at something ere he die; Rather than, screened by safe majority, Preserve his little life to little end, And never raise a rebel cry!
Let us have Men, Men who will say a word to their souls and keep it — keep it not when it is easy, but keep it when it is hard — keep it when the storm roars and there is a white-streaked sky and blue thunder before, and one's eyes are blinded and one's ears deafened with the war of opposing things; and keep it under the long leaden sky and the gray dreariness that never lifts. Hold unto the last: that is what it means to have a Dominant Idea, which Circumstance cannot break. And such men make and unmake Circumstance.
It didn’t rain for you, maybe, but it always rains for me. The sky shatters and rains shards of glass.
All I have is a voice To undo the folded lie, The romantic lie in the brain Of the sensual man-in-the-street And the lie of Authority Whose buildings grope the sky: There is no such thing as the State And no one exists alone; Hunger allows no choice To the citizen or the police; We must love one another or die.
Gashed with honourable scars, Low in Glory's lap they lie; Though they fell, they fell like stars, Streaming splendour through the sky.
You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.
Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.
Lying on his back, he gazed up now into the high, cloudless sky. “Do I not know that that is infinite space, and that it is not a round arch? But, however I screw up my eyes and strain my sight, I cannot see it not round and not bounded, and in spite of my knowing about infinite space, I am incontestably right when I see a solid blue dome, and more right than when I strain my eyes to see beyond it.
I believe in God, but not as one thing, not as an old man in the sky. I believe that what people call God is something in all of us. I believe that what Jesus and Mohammed and Buddha and all the rest said was right. It's just that the translations have gone wrong.
I care not, Fortune, what you me deny: You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace, You cannot shut the windows of the sky Through which Aurora shows her brightening face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve: Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave: Of fancy, reason, virtue, naught can me bereave.
After all, reading is arguably a far more creative and imaginative process than writing; when the reader creates emotion in their head, or the colors of the sky during the setting sun, or the smell of a warm summer's breeze on their face, they should reserve as much praise for themselves as they do for the writer - perhaps more.
It is more important to discover a new source of happiness on earth than a new planet in the sky.= (?)
~Light.~--Science and art may invent splendid modes of illuminating the apartments of the opulent; but these are all poor and worthless compared with the light which the sun sends into our windows, which he pours freely, impartially, over hill and valley, which kindles daily the eastern and western sky; and so the common lights of reason and conscience and love are of more worth and dignity than the rare endowments which give celebrity to a few.--_Dr. Channing._
A sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,-- A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.
There's nothing situate under heaven's eye, / But hath its bound in earth, in sea, in sky.
Life is girt all round with a zodiac of sciences, the contributions of men who have perished to add their point of light to our sky.... These road-makers on every hand enrich us. We must extend the area of life and multiply our relations. We are as much gainers by finding a property in the old earth as by acquiring a new planet.
So solemnly the Funeral passes by! The march of Triumph, under this same sky. Trails in its course--both vanish into Night: To me are one, the Sob, the Joyous Cry.
The ancestors of our race did not only believe in divine powers more or less manifest to their senses, in rivers and mountains, in the sky and the sun, in the thunder and rain, but their senses likewise suggested to them two of the most essential elements of all religion: the concept of the infinite, and the concept of law and order, as revealed before them, the one in the golden sea behind the dawn, the other in the daily path of the sun.... These two concepts, which sooner or later must be taken in and minded by every human being, were at first no more than an impulse, but their impulsive force would not rest till it had beaten into the minds of the fathers of our race the deep and indelible impression that 'all is right,' and filled them with a hope, and more than a hope, that 'all will be right.'
The blue-bird carries the sky on his back.
Her face is like the milky way i' the sky,-- A meeting of gentle lights without a name.
The moving moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide; Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside.
Besides the conversation of women, it is dreams that keep the world in orbit. But dreams also form a diadem of moons, therefore the sky is that splendour inside a man's head, if his head is not, in fact, his own unique sky.
Who are you and who am I To say we know the reason why Some are born, some men die, Beneath one infinite sky? There'll be war, there'll be peace, But everything one day will cease, All the iron turned to rust, All the proud men turned to dust, And so all things time will mend, So this song will end.
The silence that is in the starry sky.
Man is the nobler growth our realms supply, / And souls are ripened in our northern sky.
Look at the sky. We are not alone. The whole universe is friendly to us and conspires only to give the best to those who dream and work.
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
Mare c?lo miscere=--To confound sea and sky.
Acting funny, but I don't know why, 'Scuse me while I kiss the sky.
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky.
The sky is changed,--and such a change! O night And storm and darkness! ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder.
Mystery: Time and Tide shall pass, I am the Wisdom Looking-Glass. This is the Ruby none can touch: Many have loved it overmuch; Its fathomless fires flutter and sigh, Being as images of the flame That shall make earth and heaven the same When the fire of the end reddens the sky, And the world consumes like a burning pall, Till where there is nothing, there is all.
Oh "darkly, deeply, beautifully blue!" As some one somewhere sings about the sky.
When it is evening, ye say it will be fair weather: for the sky is red.
~Sadness.~--Take my word for it, the saddest thing under the sky is a soul incapable of sadness.--_Countess de Gasparin._