My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.
I like the night. Without the dark, we’d never see the stars.
The first time I ever saw your face, I thought the sun rose in your eyes and the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave to the dark and empty sky, my love.
There may be a brighter star. But through my eyes the light of you is all I see.
The light which puts out our eyes is darkness to us. Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.
Look at the stars lighting up the sky: no one of them stays in the same place.
Faith is a knowledge within the heart, beyond the reach of proof.
Things are as they are. Looking out into the universe at night, we make no comparisons between right and wrong stars, nor between well and badly arranged constellations.
Every star may be a sun to someone.
We are one species. We are starstuff.
After the earth dies, some 5 billion years from now, after it’s burned to a crisp, or even swallowed by the Sun, there will be other worlds and stars and galaxies coming into being – and they will know nothing of a place once called Earth.
We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.
You can be the most beautiful woman in the world and see yourself as hideous. You must love yourself. To look in the mirror and tell yourself that you’re a rock star.
The Sneetches got really quite smart on that day. The day they decided that Sneetches are Sneetches. And no kind of Sneetch is the best on the beaches. That day, all the Sneetches forgot about stars and whether they had one, or not, upon thars.