The sky is absolutely empty. Beautifully pure and empty.

As if the architects and builders would live in all the houses they built! Or could live in them all. It's obvious, it stares you in the fact. There <i>must</i> be a God and he <i>can't</i> know anything about us.

My witness is the empty sky.

Life stand still here.

The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.

Are you telling me that even though it’s changing every second, the sky is always a perfect sky?

I talk to God but the sky is empty.

The sky was clear — remarkably clear — and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse.

the only thing in nature that moved was the sun, terrible and metallic as it inched its way across that indifferent sky.

You are the sky. Everything else — it’s just the weather.

You are the sky. Everything else — it’s just the weather.

Que el cielo exista, aunque mi lugar sea el infierno.

The sea was silent, the sky was silent; I was alone with the night and silence.

You are the sky. Everything else – it’s just the weather.

The human bones are but vain lines dawdling, the whole universe a blank mold of stars.