There they stand, the innumerable stars, shining in order like a living hymn, written in light.
—Nathaniel Parker Willis (1806–67) American Poet, Playwright, Essayist
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.
—Walt Whitman (1819–92) American Poet, Essayist, Journalist, American, Poet, Essayist, Journalist
Jump into the middle of things, get your hands dirty, fall flat on your face, and then reach for the stars.
—Ben Stein (b.1944) American Lawyer, Writer, Economist, Humorist
If you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars.
—Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941) Bengali Poet, Polymath
Reach high, for stars lie hidden in your soul. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal.
—Ralph Vaull Starr
The stars, Which stand as thick as dewdrops on the fields Of heaven.
—Philip James Bailey (1816–1902) English Poet
Stretching his hand up to reach the stars, too often man forgets the flowers at his feet.
—Jeremy Bentham (1748–1832) British Philosopher, Economist
Maybe that’s what life is… a wink of the eye and winking stars.
—Jack Kerouac (1922–1969) American Novelist, Poet
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
—Oscar Wilde (1854–1900) Irish Poet, Playwright
Be glad of life because it gives you to chance to love and to work and to play and to look up at the stars.
—Henry van Dyke Jr. (1852–1933) American Author, Educator, Clergyman
Keep your eyes on the stars and your feet on the ground.
—Theodore Roosevelt (1858–1919) American Head of State, Political leader, Historian, Explorer
Surely the stars are images of love.
—Philip James Bailey (1816–1902) English Poet
I’ve loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
—Galileo Galilei (1564–1642) Italian Astronomer, Physicist, Mathematician
For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.
—Vincent van Gogh (1853–90) Dutch Painter
No one regards what is before his feet; we all gaze at the stars.
—Ennius (c.239–169 BCE) Roman Poet
One summer night, out on a flat headland, all but surrounded by the waters of the bay, the horizons were remote and distant rims on the edge of space. Millions of stars blazed in darkness, and on the far shore a few lights burned in cottages. Otherwise there was no reminder of human life. My companion and I were alone with the stars: the misty river of the Milky Way flowing across the sky, the patterns of the constellations standing out bright and clear, a blazing planet low on the horizon. It occurred to me that if this were a sight that could be seen only once in a century, this little headland would be thronged with spectators. But it can be seen many scores of nights in any year, and so the lights burned in the cottages and the inhabitants probably gave not a thought to the beauty overhead; and because they could see it almost any night, perhaps they never will.
—Rachel Carson (1907–64) American Naturalist, Science Writer