My soul is in the sky.
~ A Midsummer Night's Dream
by William Shakespeare
The daylight, the trailing glory of the sun, went streaming out of the sky, was drawn aside like some luminous curtain, and at last I looked into the blue gulf of immensity which the sunshine hides, and saw the floating hosts of the stars.
~ The Island of Doctor Moreau
by H. G. Wells
It was a one-tone landscape. Sky, hills, barns, earth, all was a single mass of lifeless grey.
~ The Night Horseman
by Max Brand
The western sky was clear and flushed with vivid crimson, towards which the prairie rolled away in varying tones of blue.
~ Blake's Burden
by Harold Bindloss
The whole earth was brimming sunshine that morning. She tripped along, the clear sky pouring liquid blue into her soul.
~ Sister Carrie
by Theodore Dreiser
The sky was a midnight-blue, like warm, deep, blue water, and the moon seemed to lie on it like a water-lily, floating forward with an invisible current.
~ One of Ours
by Willa Cather
In a sky of iron the points of the Dipper hung like icicles and Orion flashed his cold fires.
~ Ethan Frome
by Edith Wharton
But the moon came slowly up in all her gentle glory, and the stars looked out, and through the small compass of the grated window, as through the narrow crevice of one good deed in a murky life of guilt, the face of Heaven shone bright and merciful. He raised his head; gazed upward at the quiet sky, which seemed to smile upon the earth in sadness, as if the night, more thoughtful than the day, looked down in sorrow on the sufferings and evil deeds of men; and felt its peace sink deep into his heart.
~ Barnaby Rudge
by Charles Dickens
The sky was of the deepest blue, with a few white, fleecy clouds drifting lazily across it, and the air was filled with the low drone of insects or with a sudden sharper note as bee or bluefly shot past with its quivering, long-drawn hum, like an insect tuning-fork.
~ Beyond the City
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
For the man sound in body and serene of mind there is no such thing as bad weather; every sky has its beauty, and storms which whip the blood do but make it pulse more vigorously.
~ The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
by George Gissing