The soul of man was made to walk the skies.
The soul, at peace, reflects the peace without, Forgetting grief as sunset skies forget The morning's transient shower.
The careful insect 'midst his works I view, Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew, With golden treasures load his little thighs, And steer his distant journey through the skies.
I like rain and mist. I've never understood why people exclaim over bright skies and bushels of glaring sunshine.
Sombre and rich, the skies; Great glooms, and starry plains. Gently the night wind sighs; Else a vast silence reigns.
The bluest skies. . . are in Seattle.
Too low they build who build below the skies.
While out in TV Nation, under darkening skies, the resistance is just waiting to be organized.
When a chess player looks at the board, he does not see a static mosaic, a 'still life', but a magnetic field of forces, charged with energy - as Faraday saw the stresses surrounding magnets and currents as curves in space; or as Van Gogh saw vortices in the skies of Provence.
O Innocence, with laughing eyes! Thou art a cherub from the skies, A wanderer from heaven.
Every nation needs two wings to fly. Any bird torn at the wings will never soar the skies.
He broke through the barriers of the skies.
I think sometimes when you come from a conservative background, you want to rebel a little bit. I dropped out of school at 15 and learned early in life that saying yes was a lot more fun than saying no. If you have the opportunity to explore the skies and attempt something people haven't done before - well, I was damned if I was going to sit around watching television while someone else was doing it.
Do me a favor. . . Stand up, walk to wherever the nearest window is, and just look outside. You may not know this, but there's an entire planets-worth of summers, friends, sunsets, street lamps, songs, late nights, great films, and night skies waiting for you. Your life is as amazing as you want it to be, but first, you have to let it be that way.
No known roof is as beautiful as the skies above.
Who do you suppose decided that the birds are free? Even if they can fly the skies unless they have a destination and a branch upon which to perch and rest their wings they might even come to resent having those wings. True freedom. . . true freedom may be having somewhere to return to.
I didn't start out to chart the skies; it's just no one had done it before.
. . . we can only add to the world, where we believe it ends, more parts similar to those we already know (an expanse made again and always of water and land, stars and skies).
Everything that we inherit, the rain, the skies, the speech, and anybody who works in the English language in Ireland knows that there's the dead ghost of Gaelic in the language we use and listen to and that those things will reflect our Irish identity.
That thorny path, those stormy skies, have drawn our spirits nearer; and rendered us, by sorrow's ties, each to the other dearer.