Eric Jerome Dickey Quotes

The moon is swimming naked and the summer night is fragrant with a mighty expectation of relief.

Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt at being told that it is a fragment awaiting perfection.

The full moon - the mandala of the sky.

The summer moon hung full in the sky. For the time being it was the great fact of the world.

The moon rose, an opalescent goddess tipping light from her harsh maternal scimitar.

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon.

There's the moon asking to stay long enough for the clouds to fly me away

It was a full moon and, shining on all the snow, it made everything almost as bright as day -- only the shadows were rather confusing.

The moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.

The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.

The moon is nothing But a circumambulating aphrodisiac Divinely subsidized to provoke the world Into a rising birth-rate

Under your skin the moon is alive.

You gazed at the moon and fell in the gutter.

notice the convulsed orange inch of moon perching on this silver minute of evening

Look at the moon in the sky, not the one in the lake.

So she sat on the porch and watched the moon rise. Soon its amber fluid was drenching the earth, and quenching the thirst of the day.

The moon is fat and the night air is so pure it seems edible.

Stars veil their beauty soon / Beside the glorious moon, / When her full silver light / Doth make the whole earth bright.

When the moon is ninety degrees away from the sun it sees but half the earth illuminated (the western half). For the other (the eastern half) is enveloped in night. Hence the moon itself is illuminated less brightly from the earth, and as a result its secondary light appears fainter to us.

See yonder fire! It is the moon slow rising o'er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips, and through the dewy foliage drips In little rivulets of light, and makes the heart in love with night.

What do you do there, moon, in the sky? Tell me what you do, silent moon. When evening comes you rise and go contemplating wastelands; then you set.