starry night - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Sheila gazes at those bright friends of the moon and their pattern that seems so fixed and yet ever-changing, distant lights to call her heart, to inspire dreams of other worlds.
Under a sky of perfect midnight velvet, under stars so brilliant they drew the eyes heaven bound, the lyrics of starry starry night played softly in Ed's mind. As the light twinkled and the unheard music played, his steps fell lightly over the rutted path.
Without my glasses the starry night was a brilliant Van Gogh, everything bigger and brighter, blurred in the most fantastic way. Just gazing at the midnight blue canvass above stole every thought from my mind, the usual carousel of worries simply forgotten. There was the heavenly stars above and a crescent moon to smile down; what else was there to know about?
Perhaps it was drugs, or likely the head blow David gave me on parting, but the stars above glowed large like street-lamps. Each one was more of an sallow yellow orb than a brilliant pin-prick of white. Once gravity had brought my body horizontal to the wet grass the starry night was all I saw, all I cared about, it was as if Vincent Van Gogh himself had returned to paint it.
The black before them had a velvet quality, like the air had been thickened somehow. Without an upwards glance Sherbet knew it was star speckled and cloudless. He glanced downward to the path he knew to be rocky by the feel under his stolen plimsoles to find that twilight was over, other than admiring the constellations above, his eyes were useless until the dawn.
The starry night above was better than any software imitation. There were lighter patches, clusters of faint and bold light, the constellations altered according to the time of year. These were the same stars that greeted the ancients, the same ones that would be there in millions of years. Sameen sat back against the cool wood of the fence. What was a few minutes in untold reams of time?
I felt a raindrop fall against my skin, followed by several others, but I didn't have the heart to go back inside. I moved over and sat on the edge of the roof, crossing one leg over the other, leaning back on my palms to observe the remaining constellations uncovered from the clouds. The moon hung full and hazy beneath an eclipse of blazing stars, allowing me to see the rooftops of the identically bleak buildings surrounding my own. My body was a fountain for the incoming rain, the water making my eyelids heavy. I closed my dull grey eyes, a rattled sigh passing through my parted lips as I did so, causing my breath to fog up in front of me, obscuring my vision, as I took in the feeling of wet, bruised skin.
A starry night loomed above, pretty enough to ignite the heart of any nature's child, yet not one of them cast their eyes upward to see it. All they cared about was moving their heavy boots over the slick mud and no amount of starlight could render the path visible.
Without her eyewear the sky above belonged in the museum of modern art right alongside Van Gogh's starry night. The light radiated from every star and her distorted lenses twisted it into gleeful patterns. Returning the starry night to constellations of pin-pricks was simple, but her glasses would be staying right in her pocket while she took in the sky above.
The breeze blew warm announcing the coming of summer's hottest days. The aroma of the tall grasses were an intoxicating perfume and the starry night above was a painting more sublime than any man could create. The clarity above became reflected in Clayton's mind and before the sunset he'd set a plan in motion.
Somewhere in the starry night was a beating human heart and lungs that took in artificial air. Heidi held her hand up to the sky as if to feel his life energy in her fingers, her astronaut, her love. How precarious is existence seemed now, but perhaps no more than those left behind. We all depend of life support systems, it's just that Victor's were more obvious on their smaller scale.
The idea of putting a price on a starry night was once nonsense; now we have to travel so far from pollution to prove stars aren't only in the myths and stories of old. The trip alone is so costly that most use it as a wedding, taking that moment under the brilliant constellations to make their vows, hoping that the spiritual moment carries them through the caustic city life that awaits their return.
Tink was a starry night enthusiast. While others flicked channels for soap operas and drama, he planned the best locations for any given weather pattern. As the daylight faded his car was packed with telescopes, a folded chair and a flask of tea. Nothing would keep him from the stars; they were his relaxation, his obsession, his connection to the universe that fascinated him so.
The street lamps reflections in the otherwise black river stretched out like flaming stilts, ruffled by the cool breeze. Sylvia smiled, it was like "Starry Night Over the Rhone." It must have been a night just like this that Van Gogh got his inspiration, the natural light above, the man-induced glows igniting the cold water.
The stars hung above them, as if strung in the air by invisible strings.