Footprints On The Moon Quotes

Don't tell me the sky's the limit when there are footprints on the moon.

The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert. Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last. Even the sun goes down.

Why is the sky the limit when there is footprints on the moon

Don't tell me the skys the limit when there are footprints on the moon

Don't tell me the sky's the limit when there's footprints on the moon.

We walked on the moon. We made footprints somewhere no one else had ever made footprints, and unless someone comes and rubs them out, those footprints will be there forever because there’s no wind.

Don’t Tell Me the Sky’s the Limit When There Are Footprints on the Moon

Dont tell me the sky is the limit, when I know there are footprints on the moon

I've never believed in the end of times. We are mankind. Our footprints are on the moon. When the last trumpet sounds and the beast rises from the pit---we will kill it.

Don't tell me the sky's the limit when there are footprints on the moon

I miss the snow. I miss looking at it, walking in it, tasting it. I used to love those days when it was so cold everyone else would be tucked away inside trying to stay warm. I would be the only one out walking, so I could look across the fields and see miles of snow without a single footprint in it. It would be completely silent -- no cars, no birds singing, no doors slamming. Just silence and snow. God, I miss snow. The stars, the moon, the wind, and blankets of pure, pristine snow.

I don't get why people say the sky's the limit when we have footprints on the moon.

Don't tell me the sky's the limit when I know there are footprints on the moon

Don't tell me my dreams are confined to earth when there are footprints on the moon

... walk in the footprints of his ancestors. This land is a museum of man's ancient history. The American has gone to the moon and found dust, he's going farther away to look for other planets, very good. But know thyself first. That is what I would tell my American friend.

Science likes to measure things, to test hypotheses and collect data. Until quite recently science wasn’t testing hypotheses about animal feelings. From the time Charles Darwin wrote his last book, The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (1872) to about the time Neil Armstrong left footprints on the moon nearly a century later (1969), prevailing scientific dogma denied animals their hearts and minds. A nonhuman animal was viewed as merely a responder to external stimuli. The idea that a walrus made decisions, or that a parakeet felt emotions, was considered unscientific.

He reflects on all the times he thought she wasn’t sure of her feelings for him, when perhaps she might’ve been taking a leisurely stroll across Elijah’s heart, leaving footprints behind that he’d never seen.

THESE ARE A FEW OF MY FAVORITE life lessons that I learned as a result of walking on the Moon and the preparation that took us there—the guiding principles that have helped keep me going since returning to Earth. • The sky is not the limit … there are footprints on the Moon! • Keep your mind open to possibilities. • Show me your friends, and I will show you your future. • Second comes right after first. • Write your own epitaph. • Maintain your spirit of adventure. • Failure is always an option. • Practice respect for all people. • Do what you believe is right even when others choose otherwise. • Trust your gut … and your instruments. • Laugh … a lot! • Keep a young mind-set at every age. • Help others go beyond where you have gone. I hope these lessons will be as helpful to you as they have been to me. Take it from a man who has walked on the Moon: Be careful what you dream—it just might come to pass, so be prepared. Apollo is the story of people at their best, working together for a common goal. We started with a dream, and we can do these kinds of things again. With a united effort and a great team, you too can achieve great things. I know, because I am living proof that no dream is too high!

Like That" Love me like a wrong turn on a bad road late at night, with no moon and no town anywhere and a large hungry animal moving heavily through the brush in the ditch. Love me with a blindfold over your eyes and the sound of rusty water blurting from the faucet in the kitchen, leaking down through the floorboards to hot cement. Do it without asking, without wondering or thinking anything, while the machinery’s shut down and the watchman’s slumped asleep before his small TV showing the empty garage, the deserted hallways, while the thieves slice through the fence with steel clippers. Love me when you can’t find a decent restaurant open anywhere, when you’re alone in a glaring diner with two nuns arguing in the back booth, when your eggs are greasy and your hash browns underdone. Snick the buttons off the front of my dress and toss them one by one into the pond where carp lurk just beneath the surface, their cold fins waving. Love me on the hood of a truck no one’s driven in years, sunk to its fenders in weeds and dead sunflowers; and in the lilies, your mouth on my white throat, while turtles drag their bellies through slick mud, through the footprints of coots and ducks. Do it when no one’s looking, when the riots begin and the planes open up, when the bus leaps the curb and the driver hits the brakes and the pedal sinks to the floor, while someone hurls a plate against the wall and picks up another, love me like a freezing shot of vodka, like pure agave, love me when you’re lonely, when we’re both too tired to speak, when you don’t believe in anything, listen, there isn’t anything, it doesn’t matter; lie down with me and close your eyes, the road curves here, I’m cranking up the radio and we’re going, we won’t turn back as long as you love me, as long as you keep on doing it exactly like that.

I have heard people bewailing man's landing on the moon, as though before it was touched by an astronaut's foot it was made of silver or mother-of-pearl, and that footprint turned it into gray dust. But the moon never was made of mother-of-pearl, and it still shines as if it were so made.

He smiled my favorite crooked smile, and then he disappeared into the darkness. With shaky legs, ignoring the fact that my action was useless, I followed him into the forest. The evidence of his path had disappeared instantly. There were no footprints, the leaves were still again, but I walked forward without thinking. I could not do anything else. I had to keep moving. If I stopped looking for him, it was over. Love, life, meaning ...over .... "Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.

Going further back, have the seventy or so turbulent millennia since the Cognitive Revolution made the world a better place to live? Was the late Neil Armstrong, whose footprint remains intact on the windless moon, happier than the nameless hunter-gatherer who 30,000 years ago left her handprint on a wall in Chauvet Cave? If not, what was the point of developing agriculture, cities, writing, coinage, empires, science and industry?

For you, a thousand times over." "Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors." "...attention shifted to him like sunflowers turning to the sun." "But even when he wasn't around, he was." "When you kill a man, you steal a life. You steal a wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. There is no act more wretched than stealing." "...she had a voice that made me think of warm milk and honey." "My heart stuttered at the thought of her." "...and I would walk by, pretending not to know her, but dying to." "It turned out that, like satan, cancer had many names." "Every woman needed a husband, even if he did silence the song in her." "The first time I saw the Pacific, I almost cried." "Proud. His eyes gleamed when he said that and I liked being on the receiving end of that look." "Make morning into a key and throw it into the well, Go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly. Let the morning sun forget to rise in the East, Go slowly, lovely moon, go slowly." "Men are easy,... a man's plumbing is like his mind: simple, very few surprises. You ladies, on the other hand... well, God put a lot of thought into making you." "All my life, I'd been around men. That night, I discovered the tenderness of a woman." "And I could almost feel the emptiness in [her] womb, like it was a living, breathing thing. It had seeped into our marriage, that emptiness, into our laughs, and our lovemaking. And late at night, in the darkness of our room, I'd feel it rising from [her] and settling between us. Sleeping between us. Like a newborn child." "America was a river, roaring along unmindful of the past. I could wade into this river, let my sins drown to the bottom, let the waters carry me someplace far. Someplace with no ghosts, no memories, and no sins. If for nothing else, for that I embraced America." "...and every day I thank [God] that I am alive, not because I fear death, but because my wife has a husband and my son is not an orphan." "...lifting him from the certainty of turmoil and dropping him in a turmoil of uncertainty." "...sometimes the dead are luckier." "He walked like he was afraid to leave behind footprints. He moved as if not to stir the air around him." "...and when she locked her arms around my neck, when I smelled apples in her hair, I realized how much I had missed her. 'You're still the morning sun to me...' I whispered." "...there is a God, there always has been. I see him here, in the eys of the people in this [hospital] corridor of desperation. This is the real house of God, this is where those who have lost God will find Him... there is a God, there has to be, and now I will pray, I will pray that He will forgive that I have neglected Him all of these years, forgive that I have betrayed, lied, and sinned with impunity only to turn to Him now in my hour of need. I pray that He is as merciful, benevolent, and gracious as His book says He is.

Was the late Neil Armstrong, whose footprint remains intact on the windless moon, happier than the nameless hunter-gatherer who 30,000 years ago left her handprint on a wall in Chauvet Cave? If not, what was the point of developing agriculture, cities, writing, coinage, empires, science and industry? Historians

I hoped to offer U.S. intelligence agencies the opportunity to even place CIA officers in NOC (non-official cover) jobs in our company working under our Libyan contract. With agency officers in place with rock-solid “cover for status”—that’s the lie that explains who you are pretending to be—and “cover for action”—that’s the lie that explains what you’re doing while you’re there—the United States would have direct access to people in the seedy, murky underside of Libya, people whose motives and alliances were now unclear. The goals were a tall order, but don’t tell me the sky’s the limit when there are footprints on the moon, because as my dad would say, you never hit high aiming low.” Excerpt From: Jamie Smith. “Gray Work

Within a year, possibly by next fall," he was saying, "something that has never before been done, will be done. NASA will be sending men to the moon. Think of that. Men who were once in classrooms like this one will leave their footprints on the lunar surface." He paused. I leaned in close against the wall so I could hear him. "That is why you are sitting here tonight, and why you will be coming here in the months ahead. You come to dream dreams. You come to build fantastic castles up in the air. And you come to learn how to build the foundations that make those castles real. When the men who will command that mission were boys your age, no one knew. But in a few months, that's what will happen. So, twenty years from now, what will people say of you? 'No one knew then that this kid Washington Irving High School would grow up to do'...what? What castle will you build?

Did you know that until very recently, more people had been to the moon than had dived beyond depths of six thousand meters? I think about this often- -the inhospitableness of certain places. A footprint, once left on the surface of the moon, might in theory remain as it is almost indefinitely. Uneroded by atmosphere, by wind or by rain, any mark made up there could quite easily last for several centuries. The ocean is different, the ocean covers its tracks.

But are we happier? Did the wealth humankind accumulated over the last five centuries translate into a new-found contentment? Did the discovery of inexhaustible energy resources open before us inexhaustible stores of bliss? Going further back, have the seventy or so turbulent millennia since the Cognitive Revolution made the world a better place to live? Was the late Neil Armstrong, whose footprint remains intact on the windless moon, happier than the nameless hunter-gatherer who 30,000 years ago left her handprint on a wall in Chauvet Cave? If not, what was the point of developing agriculture, cities, writing, coinage, empires, science and industry?

The sky is not the limit when there are footprints on the moon

Don't tell me the sky is the limit - there's footprints on the Moon. - Overheard at a flee market.

(2) Simple Inflatables come in spheres and cylinders, both shapes with unstable footprints and awkward to work with if not pre-decked. In free space, the inflatable cylinder can be subdivided in radial cross sections, its caps serving as top and bottom. But on the Moon, one can only lay such a shape on its side, especially given the nee

In one neighborhood where all are welcome. We all have one feature in common: an outlook. It is forged by the memory of what we went through and shaped by the hope that we will persevere. It is as indelible as a footprint on cement.

TRUE STORIES Don't ask for the true story; why do you need it? It's not what I set out with or what I carry. What I'm sailing with, a knife, blue fire, luck, a few good words that still work and the tide. The true story was lost on the way down to the beach, it's something I never had, that black tangle of branches in a shifting light, my blurred footprints filling with salt water, this handful of tiny bones, this owl's kill. a moon, crumpled papers, a coin, the glint of an old picnic, the hollows made by lovers in the sand a hundred years ago: no clue The true story lies among the other stories; a mess of colors, like jumbled clothing, thrown off or away, like hearts on marble, like syllables like butchers' discards. The true story is vicious and multiple and untrue after all. Why do you need it? Don't ever ask for the true story.

Did you know that until very recently, more people had been to the moon than had dived beyond depths of six thousand meters? I think about this often—the inhospitableness of certain places. A footprint, once left on the surface of the moon, might in theory remain as it is almost indefinitely. Uneroded by atmosphere, by wind or by rain, any mark made up there could quite easily last for several centuries. The ocean is different, the ocean covers its tracks.

Don't tell me the skies the limit when there are footprints on the moon. -Aminah Iman

Ahead an orange sun smouldered behind the purple and grey horizon. Behind her the moon was fading in the early morning sky like a footprint in wet sand. The air smelt fresh, cold and clean and Poppy breathed deeply. Gradually she felt the tension of the last forty-eight hours ease from her shoulders.

How Dare You Tell Me That The Sky Is The Limit When There Are Footprints On The Moon.

Don't ever tell me that something is unreachable or impossible, now that mankind has left their footprints on the moon.

must choose a geological deposit to mark our time, one that is uniquely human-born, I would suggest the area of Mare Tranquilitatis, the Sea of Tranquility, on the Moon, where the Apollo 11 astronauts first stepped onto the soil of another world, hopped about, did experiments, took rocks and soil, and left behind machines, flags, and footprints. Those boot marks will fade in a few million years as micrometeorites grind them into the surrounding dust, but the overall disturbance of this site, including the alien artifacts we left there, will surely be detectable for as long as there is an Earth and a Moon. This could not have been produced by any other species.

Gramps had the radio on, tuned to the only station that the authorities allowed us mere lava mites to listen to. Dripple for the workers of the Motherland. They sang it loud, they sang it clear:    “And once those feet did tread upon silver sand    And footprints deep marked out new moons of Motherland    Which all salute with upraised hand.” I went upstairs and put on my school uniform. Every part of me dead. Limp. Dead.

Daily Affirmation: If I am willing to spend two years of my life like others won’t, I can spend the rest of my life like others can’t.” The Sky Isn’t The Limit Never tell me the sky is the limit when there are footprints on the moon. The sky is not the limit, if so we never would have gone to the moon. With the proper mindset and mentors, regardless of where you are presently in life, your possibilities are limitless. You are one idea or one person away from resources that could change the legacy of your family and those of others. Will your great-great grandchildren remember your name because they see your footprints (i.e. businesses you left them, stocks you purchased or real estate)?

Don’t tell me the sky is the limit when there are footprints on the moon.

Into The Abyss In the midst of the wailing winds In the thickets of the ghastly fields I found a ring lying on the ground With the footsteps to follow around Frightened yet resolute, out in the dark i go In the willows beside the river An old man creaked in his chair in a queer "It has eyes everywhere, You can't escape once you're here" He whispered, as if his last breath And out in the dark I go In the cricket's cries, under the hollow moon I saw a graveyard with tombs dug through "Dead celebrate when the night is nigh For they revel in the living's cry", Said the men with the axe in tow, And out in the dark I go Somewhere out in the dark, distraught The footprints I stumbled upon were gone I had to return the ring, i thought But the one i was carrying was gone Where am I? I wish I would've known I stared into the abyss, all alone No soul within, nor outside stark I shouldn't have gone out in the dark I shouldn't have gone out in the dark

first spring ramble a wedge of geese pries the sky open shrew such a small death the certainty in the blackbird’s voice dark before dawn venturing into the impossible oriole’s voice summer afternoon the salamander basking in inattention shimmering lake how unimportant what’s important the scent of her unsent letters the ringing of faraway bells dusk in a field homeless among the skyscrapers autumn moon ever since we lost touch her cold hands northerly wind the runes of gulls’ footprints in the damp sand winter morning a sleepy genie rises from the coffee

The word had gone around that Americans were big oil users and therefore were wicked. Sometimes it wasn’t just oil that the Americans were accused of using in Gargantuan quantities. It was energy. They used, it was said, with pious scorn, more energy than any other people on earth and the fact that they did more with the energy they used than any other people on earth was quite beside the point. Americans had become ogres, vampires, destroyers rather than leaders of mankind, and in their humanity they destroyed bluebirds, anchovies, pine trees, grass, grizzly bears, black people, the soul, the oceans of the world, and having left their footprints on the moon were probably intent upon doing the same thing there and through the whole of outer space if they were not stopped.

The Eagle Has Landed The airlock swings open - Behold! A new world: obsidian black sky lit by the sun's fierce glare. Inch Down the ladder - The first man on the moon!* Look! The first footprint. Listen! The first word splitting the still dead silence. Dead dust dead rock dead black sky A dead dead world. Zombie in a moontrance I* trip stumble fall rise before the slow dust settles. Adrian Rumble

But meanwhile, because it’s hard to see how one process could have such diverse powers, it’s hard to imagine that one fell swoop could solve even such prosaic problems as obesity and cancer and aging. Well, one trick cured smallpox and built airplanes and cultivated wheat and tamed fire. Our current science may not agree yet on how exactly the trick works, but it works anyway. If you are temporarily ignorant about a phenomenon, that is a fact about your current state of mind, not a fact about the phenomenon. A blank map does not correspond to a blank territory. If one does not quite understand that power which put footprints on the Moon, nonetheless, the footprints are still there—real footprints, on a real Moon, put there by a real power. If one were to understand deeply enough, one could create and shape that power. Intelligence is as real as electricity. It’s merely far more powerful, far more dangerous, has far deeper implications for the unfolding story of life in the universe—and it’s a tiny little bit harder to figure out how to build a generator.

moon was fading in the early morning sky like a footprint in wet sand.

Don't tell me the sky's the limit when there's footprints on the moon.

Self-loathing is man’s effort to sweep the moon of footprints.

writer Robert Heinlein put it shortly after the Moon landing, Apollo’s success was “the greatest event in all the history of the human race up to this time.” 203 The symbolic meaning of the program’s end shouldn’t be underestimated. Apollo was nothing less than an instance of the technological sublime. The Apollo 11 mission, and the technological mastery a successful Moon landing represented, elicited a cross-cultural spiritual reaction. Images from the mission were “surrounded with the aura of religion,” 204 from the silvery Saturn V rocket, which towered against the darkness of space before it lifted off and sent the first humans to another world, to the Apollo 8 crew’s reading from the Book of Genesis on Christmas Eve 1968, to Armstrong’s footprints on the lunar surface. In the 20th century, the experience of the technological sublime was a recurrent phenomenon in America—think of the interstate highway system, the Hoover Dam, the Manhattan skyline, the atomic bomb, the jet airplane, or the Golden Gate Bridge.