It seemed at momemts, When I sat alone in the dark stateroom, that the sky had come down to meet the sea and some great secert was to be revealed.
The sun was up - stuck like half a tinned apricot on a sky awash with all the colours of a fading bruise. Down below the living dead were forming their complaining queues at bus stops.
The sky darkened, the air grew colder, but he didn't mind. It didn't occur to him to move. This was the right place. This was where he had wanted to be.
I felt like the sky around me was closing me in. Trapping me in some sort of bubble where time stands still and grief would linger on forever.
The number of ways you can live in one lifetime is limitless. So why limit yourself? The sky is NOT the limit. Beyond the universe is.
On sunny days of summer, I am indeed the butterfly; And like the ancient drummer, I rhythm straight towards the sky...
My father says that there is only one perfect view — the view of the sky straight over our heads, and that all these views on earth are but bungled copies of it.
Art is what gets us beyond what is real. It makes reality more real. It also shortens the distance we gotta travel to see how connected we are.
Every star that lights up the sky, every bee pollinating the flowers, every pet asking for a treat exposes us to energy that echoes throughout our universe.
There was no sun; there was no light. I was dying. I couldn't remember what the sky looked like. But I didn't die. I was lost to a sea of cold, and then I was reborn into a world of warmth.
He stopped and leaned against a pole and looked up at the deaf and swollen sky. It was a movement of dark shapes, a hurrying, a running. He closed his eyes. ("Hunger")
The stars glittered in the sky and as the number of people at the party grew there were merging conversations and laughter and bodies moving in outlines around the kegs of beer in a curtsy of youth.
...there are so many books left to read. For that reason alone it is worth going on living. Books make me happy, the help me escape from reality.
The stars were only sparks of the fire which devoured us. Should that fire die out one day, there would be nothing left in the sky but dead stars, dead eyes.
Tonight the sky was utterly black. Perhaps there was no moon tonight—a lunar eclipse, a new moon. A new moon. I shivered, though I wasn't cold.
500. There are paradoxes. If there were no night, we would be deprived of the magnificent image of a starry sky. Thus light deprives us of "vision," and darkness helps us "see.
Above us, outlined against the brilliant sky, dragons crowded every available perching space on the Rim. And the sun made a gold of every one of them.
Life is duty and obligation, therefore love, too, is a duty. It's as if God sent it to me,' she said, looking up at the sky, 'and told me to love.' p. 265
It wasn't fair to pull her into that vortex, because I couldn't be fixed. And Roxy was a fixer. She thought she could help me, I could see it in her eyes.
All she could see was her demise and it called out a tempting ruse, offering a suffering less potent than what sickened the living.
In the sky there are always answers and explanations for everything: every pain, every suffering, joy and confusion.
