Do you know what a pearl is and what an opal is? My soul when you came sauntering to me first through those sweet summer evenings was beautiful but with the pale passionless beauty of a pearl. Your love has passed through me and now I feel my mind something like an opal, that is, full of strange uncertain hues and colours, of warm lights and quick shadows and of broken music.
Sky of blackness and sorrow, sky of love, sky of tears. Sky of glory and sadness, sky of mercy, sky of fear.
When I was four, I was a kind of sky worshipper. I would look at the sky, and I wanted to evaporate into the sky - I loved the sky. I loved looking at the trees, just because they touched the sky.
Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.
Used to tell me the sky's the limit, now the sky is our point of view.
At night the sky is pure astronomy.
I'm looking at my window right now and it's a perfect blue sky. And if you ask people about Sept. 11, the one thing they'll tell you is how serenely, awesomely, perfectly blue the sky was. The juxtaposition of how the day began and what happened is jarring even now.
The artist, busy and unsettled, can find a moment's peace - and even whole-being rejuvenation - by quietly attuning to a red sky, a gray sky, a black sky, a blue sky.
I bet," said Mulch, "that you would set the world on fire just to watch it burn." Opal tapped the suggestion into a small electronic notepad on her pocket computer. Thanks for that. Now, tell me everything.
The length of sky is just about the size of my ignorance. Pure and wide.
A sky as pure as water bathed the stars and brought them out.
We have had the stone age; we have had the iron age; and now we have the sky age, and the sky telegraph, and sky men, and sky cities. Mountains of stone are built out of men's visions. Towers and skyscrapers swing up out of their wills and up out of their hearts.
The thoughts that occur to me while I’m running are like clouds in the sky. Clouds of all different sizes. They come and they go, while the sky remains the same sky always. The clouds are mere guests in the sky that pass away and vanish, leaving behind the sky.
All was glorious - a cloudless sky above, a most delicious view around. . . . How great is our good fortune! I care not what may be the condition of the earth; it is the sky that is for me now.
Obedience is not creation, and thus can never produce salvation. Obedience is a response, while creation is pure choice, undictated, unrequired. Pure choice produces salvation through the pure creation of highest idea in this moment now.
The aggregates that we pick up in the human plane will be washed away, and we will become pure spirit, pure light, pure love, and pure ecstasy.