Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
Black frost. The ground is hard, the air tastes bitter. Your stars cluster in evil signs.
Rather than have it the principal thing in my son’s mind, I would gladly have him think that the sun went round the earth, and that the stars were so many spangles set in the bright blue firmament.
God speaks to me not through the thunder and the earthquake, nor through the ocean and the stars, but through the Son of Man, and speaks in a language adapted to my imperfect sight and hearing.
As any opera fan knows, lawyers and judges do not fare well in most operas. Just consider the productions of ‘Andrea Chenier,’ ‘Aida, Norma,’ ‘Billy Budd,’ ‘Peter Grimes,’ ‘The Crucible,’ ‘Lost in the Stars,’ ‘The Marriage of Figaro,’ ‘The Makropulos Case’ and Wagner’s ‘Ring’ cycle. Around 1810, the theme of justice emerged in opera.
So many bright stars, bright in life, burn out quickly.
Even rock stars are entitled to privacy.
A man gazing on the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.
And if a person is religious, I think it’s good, it helps you a bit. But if you’re not, at least you can have the sense that there is a condition inside you which looks at the stars with amazement and awe.
I believe I can even yet remember when I saw the stars for the first time.