There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.
stars
Do not despise your own place and hour. Every place is under the stars, every place is the center of the world.
opportunity life world stars place
For he would be thinking of loveTill the stars had run awayAnd the shadows eaten the moon.
shadows stars moon thinking run
He stared at her, knowing with certainty that he was falling in love. He pulled her close and kissed her beneath a blanket of stars, wondering how on earth he'd been lucky enough to find her.
knowing earth wondering stars find falling lucky certainty close love
The darker the night, the brighter the stars, The deeper the grief, the closer is God!
night stars grief closer god
All of us at one point end face up in a ditch, but only a few will choose to look up at the stars and dream.
inspiration dreams purpose motivation action life-lessons dream stars end choose face
When they reached their ship, Ed gazed out at the bay. It was black. The sky was black, but the bay was even blacker. It was a slick, oily blackness that glowed and reflected the moonlight like a black jewel. Ed saw the tiny specks of light around the edges of the bay where he knew ships must be docked, and at different points within the bay where vessels would be anchored. The lights were pale and sickly yellow when compared with the bright blue-white sparkle of the stars overhead, but the stars glinted hard as diamonds, cold as ice. Pg. 26.
adventure light stories racism sky homophobia bright ship lights stars black unrequited-love sex sexism ships hard prostitution segregation cold ice navy cuba short-stories moonlight short-story-collection diamonds
And suddenly first one and then another began to sing as they played, deep-throated singing of the dwarves in the deep places of their ancient homes; and this is like a fragment of their song, if it can be like their song without their music. [..]As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick. He looked out of the window. The stars were out in a dark sky above the trees. He thought of the jewels of the dwarves shining in dark caverns. Suddenly in the wood beyond The Water a flame leapt up - probably somebody lighting a wood-fire-and he thought of plundering dragons settling on his quiet Hill and kindling it all to flames. He shuddered; and very quickly he was plain Mr. Baggins of Bag-End, Under-Hill, again. He got up trembling.
places magic travel adventure music hearts thought sword songs beautiful desire sky song mountains dark moving ancient trees deep dragons singing stars water hobbit quiet hands things window sing hear explore inside great made love cunning
The Christian in the one whose imagination should fly beyond the stars.
imagination art christianity stars fly christian
USURY: Everybody's looking for the job in which you never have to pay anyone their pound of flesh. Self-employed nirvana. A lot of artists like to think of themselves as uncompromising; a lot of management consultants won't tell you what they do until they've sunk five pints. I don't think anybody should give themselves air just because they don't have to hand over a pound of flesh every day at 5pm, and I don't think anyone should beat themselves with broken glass because they do. If you're an artist, well, good for you. Thank your lucky stars every evening and dance in the garden with the fairies. But don't fool yourself that you occupy some kind of higher moral ground. You have to work for that. Writing a few lines, painting a pretty picture - that just won't do it.
management dance writing work art kind good glass artist stars artists fool day moral broken air picture lucky hand nirvana flesh job garden painting fairies beat pretty give evening
Oh! To shoot for the stars if feels right. Aim for my heart if it feels right.
funny humor music art science inspirational heart stars
I am the eye that beholds.. And I am the dreamer that paints the stars in the night sky.. For I am the one they call artist, and you call Love.
poetry beauty art sky dreamer night artist stars beauty-in-nature eye call solange love
The finished clock is resplendent. At first glance it is simply a clock, a rather large black clock with a white face and a silver pendulum. Well crafted, obviously, with intricately carved woodwork edges and a perfectly painted face, but just a clock. But that is before it is wound. Before it begins to tick, the pendulum swinging steadily and evenly. Then, then it becomes something else. The changes are slow. First, the color changes in the face, shifts from white to grey, and then there are clouds that float across it, disappearing when they reach the opposite side. Meanwhile, bits of the body of the clock expand and contract, like pieces of a puzzle. As though the clock is falling apart, slowly and gracefully. All of this takes hours. The face of the clock becomes a darker grey, and then black, with twinkling stars where numbers had been previously. The body of the clock, which has been methodically turning itself inside out and expanding, is now entirely subtle shades of white and grey. And it is not just pieces, it is figures and objects, perfectly carved flowers and planets and tiny books with actual paper pages that turn. There is a silver dragon that curls around part of the now visible clockwork, a tiny princess in a carved tower who paces in distress, awaiting an absent prince. Teapots that pour into teacups and minuscule curls of steam that rise from them as the seconds tick. Wrapped presents open. Small cats chase small dogs. An entire game of chess is played. At the center, where a cuckoo bird would live in a more traditional timepiece, is the juggler. Dress in harlequin style with a grey mask, he juggles shiny silver balls that correspond to each hour. As the clock chimes, another ball joins the rest until at midnight he juggles twelve balls in a complex pattern. After midnight, the clock begins once more to fold in upon itself. The face lightens and the cloud returns. The number of juggled balls decreases until the juggler himself vanishes. By noon it is a clock again, and no longer a dream.
numbers style chase change time rest game art live chess fantasy body clouds color dream cats stars black prince small dragon flowers dogs pieces mask falling face open wound complex princess bird white inside clock cloud part pages paper dress tower books side rise visible
We are made wholeBy books, as by great spaces and the stars
stars great made books
I love bookshelves, and stacks of books, spines, typography, and the feel of pages between my fingertips. I love bookmarks, and old bindings, and stars in margins next to beautiful passages. I love exuberant underlinings that recall to me a swoon of language-love from a long-ago reading, something I hoped to remember. I love book plates, and inscriptions in gifts from loved ones, I love author signatures, and I love books sitting around reminding me of them, being present in my life, being. I love books. Not just for what they contain. I love them as objects too, as ever-present reminders of what they contain, and because they are beautiful. They are one of my favorite things in life, really at the tiptop of the list, easily my favorite inanimate things in existence, and.. I am just not cottoning on to this idea of making them.. Not exist anymore. Making them cease to take up space in the world, in my life? No, please do not take away the physical reality of my books.
reading gifts life idea existence reality world author present beautiful book remember stars feel space exist things pages favorite physical love typography books shelves
It was a question of insurmountable proportions. A single word that held every fear he had ever had-and every wish he had ever made on those cursed stars. She needn't say more. In a single syllable, she had said more than he wanted to hear in an entire lifetime.
fear romance stars lifetime word question hear single made christian
Funeral BluesStop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drumBring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeropanes circle moaning overheadScribbling on the sky the message He is Dead. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; For nothing now can ever come to any good.
poetry silence death rest thought sky good wrong song stars moon sun black dog south public dead talk forever working ocean white message woods funeral clocks love west traffic
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.
poetry dreams life death beautiful bright stars feel moon eyes lie sea side rise
The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of starsLetting in the light, peephole after peephole--- A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
poetry death light sky night stars things paper
It has been a week since Ami died and this morning I woke suddenly hours before dawn, indeed the same hour as when my mother died. It was not a dream that woke me, but a thought. And with that thought I could swear I heard Ami's voice. But I am not frightened. I am joyous. Joyous with realization. For I cannot help but think what a lucky person I am. Imagine that in all the eons of time, in all the possible universes of which Dara speaks, of all the stars in the heavens, Ami and I came together for one brief and shining sliver of time. I stop. I think. Supposing in the grand infinity of this universe two particles of life, Ami and me, swirl endlessly like grains of sand in the oceans of the world -- how much of a chance is there for these two particles, these two grains of sand, to collide, to rest briefly together.. At the same moment in time? That is what happened with Ami and me.. This miracle of chance.
chance life infinity death time rest moment voice thought world dream universe gratitude miracle mother person stars dawn morning space imagine realization stop lucky sand oceans
The fish is my friend too..I have never seen or heard of such a fish. But I must kill him. I am glad we do not have to try to kill the stars. Imagine if each day a man must try to kill the moon, he thought. The moon runs away. But imagine if a man each day should have to try to kill the sun? We were born lucky; he thought
luck man nature death thought stars day moon sun fish imagine killing friend lucky born kill
Life rises out of death, death rises out of life; in being opposite they yearn to each other, they give birth to each other and are forever reborn. And with them, all is reborn, the flower of the apple tree, the light of the stars. In life is death. In death is rebirth. What then is life without death? Life unchanging, everlasting, eternal?-What is it but death-death without rebirth?
birth life death light rebirth balance flower stars eternal forever apple tree give
The candle glimmers but an hour. The nightLooms in its ancient hunger. Would you knowThe tragedy of human love and need?Gaze on the stars, then on a brother's face!
death time human hunger ancient stars tragedy face love
On golden wingsThe angels soarwatching usforevermoreFrom their viewpointIn the airA better placeThan what was thereOn golden wings, The angels flyshooting stars across the skyLife's burdens around their feetAnd we'll meet them thereWhen our life's completeOn golden wings, The angels danceHappy the deceitsOf life are pastThey're past the toils, Past the snaresHappy nowIn heaven at lastOn golden wings, The angels riseLeaving withered bodies behindLiving forever in our soulsThey're still here, Just invisible, you know
life death past heaven wings remembrance stars angels bodies angel forever invisible burdens
How thin the air felt at the forest's edge, how ghostly the trees that guarded their realm.. The whole world seemed as delicate as a dandelion seed, and as fleeting.. How sad to know that the figment village of my imagination would not vanish when I ended, to understand that it was not I who had invented the moon the first time I realized how lovely it was. To admit that it was not my breath that made the winds blow.. [M]y heart, my heart knew that when I closed my eyes I invented the night sky and the stars too. Wasn't the whole dome of the sky the same shape as the inside of my skull? Didn't I create the sun and the day when I raised my eyelids every morning?
imagination perception nature death time world heart sky breath trees sad night stars day morning lovely moon sun eyes air understand create inside made seed realm skull thin
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