Quotes about Moon

Children will draw pictures with everything in them...houses and trees and people and animals...and the sun AND the moon.  Grown-up says, "That's a nice picture, Honey, but you put the moon and the sun in the sky at the same time and that isn't right."  But the child is right!  The sun and moon are in the sky at the same time.

..the sweet love between the moon and the deep blue sea...

When I was young I spoke like a child
I saw with a child's eyes
And an open door was to a girl
Like the stars are to the sky
It's funny how the world lives up to
All your expectations
With adventures for the stout of heart
And the lure of the open spaces

There's two lanes running down this road
And whichever side you're on
Accounts for where you want to go
Or what you're running from
Back when darkness overtook me
On a blind man's curve

I relied upon the moon and Saint Christopher

"The modern habit of saying, 'Every man has a different philosophy; this is my philosophy and it suits me'--the habit of saying this is mere weak mindedness.  A cosmic philosophy is not constructed to fit a man; a cosmic philosophy is constructed to fit a cosmos.  A man can no more possess a private religion than he can possess a private sun and moon."

moonlight-
         a sand dune
         shifts

May you eat an unfamiliar dessert in a strange land at least once every three years.

May you wake up... and start dancing while you're still half-asleep.

May you spray-paint Rilke poems as graffiti on highway overpasses...

My you learn to identify by name 20 flowers, 15 trees, 10 clouds, and one extrasolar planet...

May you dream of taking a trip to the moon in a gondola powered by firecrackers and wild swans.

Fantastic truths perish slower... Sappho's moon will survive the moon of Armstrong.  Different computations are necessary.

Once I thought I saw you in a crowded hazy bar,
Dancing on the light from star to star.
Far across the moonbeam I know that's who you are,
I saw your brown eyes turning once to fire.

I am just a dreamer, but you are just a dream,
You could have been anyone to me.
Before that moment you touched my lips
That perfect feeling when time just slips
Away between us on our foggy trip.

The moon is quite a show off given the chance.  The stars make a sound when they shine so bright.  Water so blue and so black.

There is a town in north Ontario,
With dream comfort memory to spare,
And in my mind
I still need a place to go,
All my changes were there.

Blue, blue windows behind the stars,
Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the sky,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.

A new moon teaches gradualness
and deliberation and how one gives birth
to oneself slowly. Patience with small details
makes perfect a large work, like the universe.

What nine months of attention does for an embryo
forty early mornings will do
for your gradually growing wholeness.

Go out of the house to see the moon, and't is mere tinsel; it will not please as when its light shines upon your necessary journey.

Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gathering winter fuel

You don't have to be tall to see the moon.

Wisdom is as the moon rises, perceptible not in progress but in result.

Each that we lose takes a part of us;
   A crescent still abides,
Which like the moon, some turbid night,
   Is summoned by the tides.

Goodnight moon.  Sweet dreams.  Smile kindly upon this little blue gum ball of us while we sleep.

Language exerts hidden power, like the moon on the tides.

This place of mine
never is entered by humans
come for conversation,
only by the mute moon's light shafts
that slip in between the trees.

Moonlight is sculpture; sunlight is painting.

The light of the moon is all we've got to go on...

I'm being followed by a moon shadow
Leaping and hopping on a moon shadow...
Did it take long to find me, I asked the faithful light
...and are you going to stay the night?

Synchronized with the rising moon
Even with the evening star
They were true love written in stone
They were never alone, they were never that far apart

Funny when you're small
The moon follows the car
There's no one but you see
Hey, the moon is chasing me!

For a moment this good time would never end
You and me
Just wasting time
I was kissing you
You were kissing me love
From good day into a moonlight

Should at that moment the full moon
Step forth upon the hill,
And memories hard to bear at noon,
By moonlight harder still,
Form in the shadows of the trees,---
Things that you could not spare
And live, or so you thought, yet these
All gone, and you still there,
A man no longer what he was,
Not yet the thing he planned...

The self is fundamentally an illusion arising as a reflection of the soul in matter, much as a clear lake at midnight reflects the moon.

There's a web like a spider's web
Made of silver light and shadows
Spun by the moon in my room last night
It's a web made to catch a dream
Hold it tight 'til I awaken
As if to tell me my dream is all right

On a long flight, after periods of crisis and many hours of fatigue, mind and body may become disunited until at times they seem completely different elements, as though the body were only a home with which the mind has been associated but by no means bound.  Consciousness grows independent of the ordinary senses.  You see without assistance from the eyes, over distances beyond the visual horizon.  There are moments when existence appears independent even of the mind.  The importance of physical desire and immediate surroundings is submerged in the apprehension of universal values.

For unmeasurable periods, I seem divorced from my body, as though I were an awareness spreading out through space, over the earth and into the heavens, unhampered by time or substance, free from the gravitation that binds to heavy human problems of the world.  My body requires no attention.  It's not hungry.  It's neither warm or cold.  It's resigned to being left undisturbed.  Why have I troubled to bring it here?  I might better have left it back at Long Island or St. Louis, while the weightless element that has lived within it flashes through the skies and views the planet.  This essential consciousness needs no body for its travels.  It needs no plane, no engine, no instruments, only the release from flesh which circumstances I've gone through make possible.

Then what am I - the body substance which I can see with my eyes and feel with my hands?  Or am I this realization, this greater understanding which dwells within it, yet expands through the universe outside; a part of all existence, powerless but without need for power; immersed in solitude, yet in contact with all creation?  There are moments when the two appear inseparable, and others when they could be cut apart by the merest flash of light.

While my hand is on the stick, my feet on the rudder, and my eyes on the compass, this consciousness, like a winged messenger, goes out to visit the waves below, testing the warmth of water, the speed of wind, the thickness of intervening clouds.  It goes north to the glacial coasts of Greenland, over the horizon to the edge of dawn, ahead to Ireland, England, and the continent of Europe, away through space to the moon and stars, always returning, unwillingly, to the mortal duty of seeing that the limbs and muscles have attended their routine while it was gone.

Tonight, the moon came out, it was nearly full.
Way down here on earth, I could feel it's pull.
The weight of gravity or just the lure of life,
Made me want to leave my only home tonight.

I'm just wondering how we know where we belong
Is it in the arc of the moon, leaving shadows on the lawn
In the path of fireflies and a single bird at dawn
Singing in between here and gone