I am Ubik. Before the universe was, I am. I made the suns. I made the worlds. I created the lives and the places they inhabit; I move them here, I put them there. They go as I say, then do as I tell them. I am the word and my name is never spoken, the name which no one knows. I am called Ubik, but that is not my name. I am. I shall always be.
All religions, all this singing, one song. The differences are just illusion and vanity. The sun’s light looks a little different on this wall than it does on that wall, and a lot different on this other one, but it’s still one light.
Huge lemons, cut in slices, would sink like setting suns into the dusky sea, softly illuminating it with their radiating membranes, and its clear, smooth surface aquiver from the rising bitter essence.
[Coleridge] selected an instance of what was called the sublime, in DARWIN, who imagined the creation of the universe to have taken place in a moment, by the explosion of a mass of matter in the womb, or centre of space. In one and the same instant of time, suns and planets shot into systems in every direction, and filled and spangled the illimitable void! He asserted this to be an intolerable degradation -referring, as it were, all the beauty and harmony of nature to something like the bursting of a barrel of gunpowder! that spit its combustible materials into a pock-freckled creation!
. . . a country encapsulates our childhood and those lanes, byres, fields, flowers, insects, suns, moons and stars are forever reoccurring.
In this single galaxy of ours there are eighty-seven thousand million suns. [. . . ] In challenging it, you would be like ants attempting to label and classify all the grains of sand in all the deserts of the world. [. . . ] It is a bitter thought, but you must face it. The planets you may one day possess. But the stars are not for man.
The snow is sparkling like a million little suns.
History is a mighty dramos, enacted upon the theatre of times, with suns for lamps and eternity for a background.
In one way an oil boom is a mighty bad thing, because it gets into your blood and almost becomes an obsession. Booms are filled with excitement, adventure, and drama, but sometimes the exit from the scene must be made between suns on a pair of mighty weary feet.
Secrecy is for the happy,--misery, hopeless misery, needs no veil; under a thousand suns it dares act openly.
If you are seeking, seek us with joy For we live in the kingdom of joy. Do not give your heart to anything else But to the love of those who are clear joy, Do not stray into the neighborhood of despair. For there are hopes: they are real, they exist – Do not go in the direction of darkness – I tell you: suns exist.
A sky full of silent suns.
When The Phenoix Suns are missing two basketballs, they'll know where to look!
Be praised for all Your tenderness by these works of Your hands, suns that rise and rains that fall to bless and bring to life Your land. Look down upon this winter wheat and be glad that You have made blue for the sky and the color green that fills Your fields with praise.
Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise; My footstool earth, my canopy the skies.
The song seraphically free Of taint of personality, So pure that it salutes the suns The voice of one for millions, In whom the millions rejoice For giving their one spirit voice.
Does the sun ask itself, "Am I good? Am I worthwhile? Is there enough of me?" No, it burns and it shines. Does the sun ask itself, "What does the moon think of me? How does Mars feel about me today?" No it burns, it shines. Does the sun ask itself, "Am I as big as other suns in other galaxies?" No, it burns, it shines.
She is standing on my lids And her hair is in my hair She has the colour of my eye She has the body of my hand In my shade she is engulfed As a stone against the sky She will never close her eyes And she does not let me sleep And her dreams in the bright day Make the suns evaporate And me laugh cry and laugh Speak when I have nothing to say
. . . but out of the desert, from the dry places and the dreadful suns, come the cruel children of the lonely God; the real Unitarians who with scimitar in hand have laid waste the world. For it is not well for God to be alone.
If the suns come down, and the moons crumble into dust, and systems after systems are hurled into annihilation, what is that to you? Stand as a rock; you are indestructible. You are the Self, the God of the universe. Say - "I am Existence Absolute, Bliss Absolute, Knowledge Absolute, I am He," and like a lion breaking its cage, break your chain and be free forever. What frightens you, what holds you down? Only ignorance and delusion; nothing else can bind you. You are the Pure One, the Ever-blessed.
