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.
Source: Pronoia Is the Antidote for Paranoia: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings, Pages: 258
Contributed by: Tsuya
Fantastic truths perish slower... Sappho's moon will survive the moon of Armstrong. Different computations are necessary.
Source: Eros, Eros, Eros: Selected & Last Poems, Pages: 71 (The Little Mariner)
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 lipsThat perfect feeling when time just slipsAway between us on our foggy trip.
Source: Like a Hurricane
Contributed by: ingebrita
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.
Source: Twitter, 2.16.09
There is a town in north Ontario,With dream comfort memory to spare,And in my mindI 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.
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.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 - 1882)
You don't have to be tall to see the moon.
Good King Wenceslas looked outOn the feast of StephenWhen the snow lay round aboutDeep and crisp and evenBrightly shone the moon that nightThough the frost was cruelWhen a poor man came in sightGathering winter fuel
Source: Good King Wenceslas
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.
Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)
Source: Emily Dickinson and the Art of Belief
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