If the Sun and Moon should ever doubt, they’d immediately go out.
Tell me what you feel in your room when the full moon is shining in upon you and your lamp is dying out, and I will tell you how old you are, and I shall know if you are happy.
But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
When I admire the wonders of a sunset or the beauty of the moon, my soul expands in the worship of the creator.
The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
The Sun, Moon and Stars are there to guide us.
Women, we might as well be dogs baying the moon as petitioners without the right to vote!
Everything has a natural explanation. The moon is not a god, but a great rock, and the sun a hot rock.
My mother’s face floated to mind, a pale, reproachful moon, at her last and first visit to the asylum since my twentieth birthday. A daughter in an asylum! I had done that to her. Still, she had obviously decided to forgive me.
The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep tonight.