Shooting Star Wish Quotes

Shooting stars are not stars at all. They re just rocks that enter the atmosphere and catch fire under friction. What we wish on when we see one is only a trail of debris.

Wish on everything. Pink cars are good, especially old ones. And stars of course, first stars and shooting stars. Planes will do if they are the first light in the sky and look like stars. Wish in tunnels, holding your breath and lifting your feet off the ground. Birthday candles. Baby teeth.

Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars? I could really use a wish right now, wish right now, wish right now

Please, don't worry so much. Because in the end, none of us have very long on this Earth. Life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night. And when a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day... make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular.

What’d you wish?” “I can’t tell you that!” I say indignantly. “Why not?” “Because it won’t come true.” Do I really need to say this? I’m pretty sure it’s a given in wish situations. “Bullshit.” “It’s the rule,” I insist. “It’s only the rule with birthday cakes and shooting stars, not pennies in fountains.

…If we see shooting stars, what would you wish for, Punpun? Wishing upon shooting stars doesn’t make them come true. Right, but what if. What would you wish if they did…? I’d wish for shooting stars to disappear forever.

She was too busy wishing on shooting stars to see the dreams come true around her.

I wished for Conrad on every birthday, every shooting star, every lost eyelash, every penny in a fountain was dedicated to the one I loved.

I wished for you," he whispered, so quietly that I struggled to hear. "What did that feel like? I've never made a wish in my life." My voice was as shaky as my words were stupid. "Everybody wishes for something, Charli." I put just enough space between us to be able to look at him. "Not me. I've saved them all up. Birthday candles, shooting stars, stray eyelashes...ladybugs. I've saved hem all up. I figure I'm owed hundreds of wishes now.

What if . . . what if . . . "What if it's a harvest camp after all?" says Emby. Connor doesn't tell him to shut up this time, because he's thinking the same thing. It's Diego who answers him. "If it is, then I want my fin gers to go to a sculptor. So he can use them to craft something that will last forever." They all think about that. Hayden is the next to speak. "If I'm unwound," says Hayden, "I want my eyes to go to a photographer — one who shoots supermodels. That's what I want these eyes to see." "My lips'll go to a rock star," says Connor. "These legs are definitely going to the Olympics." "My ears to an orchestra conductor." "My stomach to a food critic." "My biceps to a body builder." "I wouldn't wish my sinuses on anybody." And they're all laughing as the plane touches down.

We remember shooting stars for their shine, not the darkness of the night. Trying to wish away grief extinguishes those memories that glow so bright.

wishing upon every shooting star isn’t the way your dreams will come true.  taking your fate into your own hands is how your dreams will come true.  so work hard.  work harder.  work even harder.  —make it happen.  

In your life you will meet shooting stars. You will see them, make your wish and see them disappear.

Shooting stars are not stars at all. They're just rocks that enter the atmosphere and catch fire under friction. What we wish on, when we see one, is only a trail of debris.

I wished for you on every shooting star when I was little. Now, if I gathered all of the stars I wished for you on, none could ever shine brighter than you. You are my shooting star, Ren. You are here with me walking this beach. I may have fucked up, but I swear to you, to God, and every single star in this sky, I will never give you up!” Stefan

Shooting stars are not stars at all. They're just rocks that eneter the atmosphere and catch fire under friction. What we wish on, when we see one, is just a trail of debris.

The woman was a meteor, a shooting star capable of granting impossible wishes or destroying life as I knew it.

It's a poem about moths. But it's also a poem about psychopaths. I get it copied. And stick it in a frame. And now it glowers redoubtably above my desk:an entomological keepsake of the horizons of existence. And the brutal, star-crossed wisdom of those who seek them out. i was talking to a moth the other evening he was trying to break into an electric bulb and fry himself on the wires why do you fellows pull this stunt i asked him because it is the conventional thing for moths or why if that had been an uncovered candle instead of an electric light bulb you would now be a small unsightly cinder have you no sense plenty of it he answered but at times we get tired of using it we get bored with routine and crave beauty and excitement fire is beautiful and we know that if we get too close it will kill us but what does that matter it is better to be happy for a moment and be burned up with beauty than to live a long time and be bored all the while so we wad all our life up into one little roll and then we shoot the roll that is what life is for it is better to be part of beauty our attitude toward life is come easy go easy we are like human beings used to be before they became too civilized to enjoy themselves and before i could argue him out of his philosophy he went and immolated himself on a patent cigar lighter i do not agree with him myself i would rather have half the happiness and twice the longevity but at the same time i wish there was something i wanted as badly as he wanted to fry himself

Shooting stars are not really stars at all but meteorites, burning their way through our atmosphere, sometimes landing in the oceans and in the middle of farms...you could make wishes on them if you like, but they are really just pieces of rock falling down from the sky, and they could land on your head and kill you just as you look up to make a wish. Really, they're just rocks. They don't care about your wishes at all.

wishing upon every shooting star isn’t the way your dreams will come true. taking your fate into your own hands is how dreams will come true. so work hard. work harder. work even harder. -make it happen.

I wished for Conrad on every birthday, every shooting star, every lost eyelash, every penny in a fountain was dedicated to the one I loved...

Because nothing so perfect can last an eternity, can it? Like shooting stars. We see the usual stars above us every single night. Most people take them for granted, even forget they are there. But if a person sees a shooting star, they remember that moment forever, they even make a wish at its presence.

you never wish on shooting stars you wish on the ones that have the courage to shine where they are, no matter how dark the night.

wish that I will succeed in life,” I replied. And I thought that a shooting star, though it could be beautiful, was a star that was afraid of shining and was fleeing as far away as possible. A bit like me.

There were a great many jokes about the disaster (house falling on and killing Wicked Witch of the East), naturally. "You can't hide from desinty, that house had her name on it" "That Nessarose, she was giving such a good speech about religious lessons, she really brought down the house!" "Everybody needs to grow up and leave home sometimes, but sometimes HOME DOESN'T LIKE IT." "What's the different between a shooting star and a falling house?" "One which is propitious grants delicious wishes, the other which is vicious squishes witches." "What's big, thick, makes the earth move, and wants to have its way with you?" "I don't know, but can you introduce me?

One star breaks off from the others, shooting across the sky, a bright light trailing behind it, and I finally understand why people wish on dying stars. Because something always has to die for life to give birth to a new dream.

Love was the cure for all. A medicine to the broken hearted. A final wish upon a shooting star. A dream gifted to all, regardless of one’s age, class, creed, religion or nation. Love was the key to all of life’s mysterious pursuits; for without it, humanity itself, would cease to exist.

Shooting stars are not stars at all. They’re just rocks that enter the atmosphere and catch fire under friction. What we wish on, when we see one, is only a trail of debris.

I saw 2 shooting stars tonight & made 1 wish. It was beautiful.

I was once beautiful you know, I ran with feet that knew nothing of falling, and wished hopeless wishes on shooting stars that I knew would never come true.

Shooting stars are not stars at all. They're just rocks that enter the atmosphere and catch fire under friction. What we wish on, when we see one, is only a trail of debris

My shooting star. You're better than a wish.

I wish for someone to be with. I wish to be un-alone.” He hoped shooting stars did not care about grammar.

Stars are everything and nothing that we think they are. They are their own world, but through an act of will we make them part of ours. They are the diamonds of the gods, the lights at a stadium where angels play a midnight game of baseball. They’re fairy farts that have been set ablaze! Mostly, they’re just an untouchable beauty that’s so far away, it’s the only place safe enough to store our secret hopes and dreams. When we see a shooting start, we all make a wish. But what nobody admits is how afraid they are of actually catching something that fell from heaven. I’m not afraid to burn. ~Hadrian

Everyone know—or at least, was probably told as a child—that you can make a wish on a shooting star. Not everyone knows that the only way to be sure it will come ture is to speak it aloud before the star disappears, and this is a nearly imposssible fet to manage.

You are my shooting star, and I always make a wish every time I see you.

You being here. This moment. It's perfection, and it's beauty. It surprises me that I wouldn't even have known to wish for it on a shooting star before today.

Because I think I saw you In a sky full of shooting stars.

If only we could dance on the sidewalk, look up at the sequined sky, and wish upon the same shooting star.

Aiko: “If we see shooting stars what would you wish for Punpun?” Punpun: “Wishing upon shooting stars doesn’t make it come true.” Aiko: “Right, but what if. What would you wish for if they did?” Punpun: “I’d wish for shooting stars to disappear forever.” - Goodnight Punpun

I'm not what you want But I'm exactly what you need Take a bite and feed Your satisfaction guaranteed I'm your sunshine, whoa I'm gonna burn down your parade I'm a shooting star That wish you wished you never made

I Ask for Silence" Now they can leave me in peace. Now they grow used to my absence. I am going to close my eyes. I want only five things, five chosen roots. One is an endless love. Two is to see the autumn. I cannot exist without leaves flying and falling to the earth. The third is the solemn winter, the rain I loved, the caress of fire in the rough cold. Fourth, the summer, plump as a watermelon. And fifthly, your eyes, Matilde, my dear love, I won’t sleep without your eyes, I won’t exist without your gaze, I adjust the spring for you to follow me with your eyes. That, friends, is all I want. Next to nothing, close to everything. Now they can go if they wish. I have lived so much that some day they will have to forget me forcibly, rubbing me off the blackboard. My heart was inexhaustible. But because I ask for silence, don’t think I’m going to die. The opposite is true; it happens I am going to live. To be, and to go on being. I will not be, however, if inside me, the crop does not keep sprouting, the shoots first, breaking through the earth to reach the light; but the mothering earth is dark, and, deep inside me, I am dark. I am a well in the water of which the night leaves behind stars and goes on alone across fields. It’s a question of having lived so much that I want to live a bit more. I never felt my voice so clear, never have been so rich in kisses. Now, as always, it is early. The light is a swarm of bees. Let me alone with the day. I ask leave to be born.

The three sisters sat together, Masie in the middle, gazing at the twinkling stars. Wee Masie squeezed her eyes closed; praying hard to the gods a shooting star would magically appear. Please, if ye grant me this one wish, I promise to eat all my cabbage. She wrinkled her nose but her promise was good.

Because nothing so perfect can last an eternity, can it? Like shooting stars. We see the usual stars above us every single night. Most people take them for granted, even forget they are there. But if a person sees a shooting star, they remember that moment forever, they even make a wish at its presence.

I wish my past didn’t hurt you so much. I’m sorry for hurting you the way I have. If I could take your pain away, I would.

When the shooting star is passing by don't forget to make a wish or it might be too late.

You’re my shooting star. My wishes come true when I’m with you.” He turns his face, grazing his mouth over my neck. “My heart belongs to you.

A shooting star. Make a wish, lo—ahem. Wendy,” Peter whispered. Wendy laid her head on Peter’s chest and breathed deeply. “I have everything I could ever wish for.

For years Melody had been making the same wish on every birthday candle, eyelash, wishbone, and shooting star that came her way, and now it had finally come true.

A while ago, I wished upon a shooting star that one day I’d find someone to love…and now holding you in my arms makes me realize that wishes really do come true,

I wish life was more. I wish it was like dreams, the happy daydreams I have all the time whenever I’m gazing up at the night sky, eagerly waiting to make a wish on a shooting star.

Dear eyelashes, wishbones, pennies, dandelions, wishing well, shooting stars, 11:11 and birthday candles, do your job

it was only wishful thinking. And whether wishes were made by blowing out birthday candles or on a shooting star, they never came true.

Sleep, baby, sleep. Our promises we'll keep. Be the miracle you are, a wish come true on a shooting star. Sleep, baby, sleep.

Promises aren't like shooting stars, if broken you get to make a wish. They are like sheets of paper, once torn they won't carry the same essence.

Moments pass by like a shooting star and they are gone before we can wish for more. - Eve, The Young Revolution

He threw open the shutters and was silent. “There,” he said, pointing to a shooting star. “Wish to stay together. Hurry.” She watched the star’s arc fade and wished, secure in her love’s embrace. “I wish that we’ll be together forever,” she whispered. He pressed his lips against her ear. “I wish that we’ll be together forever,” he echoed. “Now it can’t help but come to pass.

To Bury A Star" "I pulled a star from the darkest corner of night and hid it within my bosom. When the Earth beneath my feet gave way, moist and fertile, I knelt to the ground and cupped the radiant treasure in my hands. In a shallow hole I buried it—layer upon layer of black dirt tossed upon the spot until it no longer glowed. This I did for you, my love. Now, come with me and see what has been born from a single wishing star. Hand in hand we walk to the same spot of dirt to find the black and fertile soil sucked dry, the color blanched as pale as desert sands. Look how a ring of white fire jumps and dances around the buried starling! We catch our breath, beholding what has sprouted from this magical seed. The illusion of twisted branches glowing in the darkness like tails of comets soaring skyward—tails of baby stars that shoot like fireworks from that ring of fire. Up, up, up they fly to light a neglected corner of the night. From a single wishing star a thousand more have been born. They are for you, my love—a thousand dreams destined to come true.

Do you remember the first time you introduced me to the Milky Way? The first time we watched it together and I saw a shooting star?" She tore her eyes away from the sky and met mine, with a nod and a broad smile. "I wished for you.

Mamaw also said that the best things in life die quickly, like the cherry blossom. Because something so beautiful can never last forever, shouldn’t last forever. It stays for a brief moment in time to remind us how precious life is, before fading away just as quickly as it came. She said that it teaches you more in its short life than anything that is forever by your side.” My throat began to close at the pain in her voice. She looked up at me. “Because nothing so perfect can last an eternity, can it? Like shooting stars. We see the usual stars above us every single night. Most people take them for granted, even forget they are there. But if a person sees a shooting star, they remember that moment forever, they even make a wish at its presence.” She took in a deep breath. “It shoots by so quickly that people savor the short time they have with it.” I felt a teardrop fall on our joined hands. I was confused, unsure why she was talking about such sad things. “Because something so completely perfect and special is destined to fade. Eventually, it has to blow away into the wind.” Poppy held up the cherry blossom that was still in her hand. “Like this flower.” She threw it into the air, just as a gust of wind came. The strong bluster carried the petals into the sky and away above the trees. It disappeared from our sight. “Poppy—” I went to speak, but she cut me off. “Maybe we’re like the cherry blossom, Rune. Like shooting stars. Maybe we loved too much too young and burned so bright that we had to fade out.” She pointed behind us, to the blossom grove. “Extreme beauty, quick death. We had this love long enough to teach us a lesson. To show us how capable of love we truly are.

Like shooting stars. We see the usual stars above us every single night. Most people take them for granted, even forget they are there. But if a person sees a shooting star, they remember that moment forever, they even make a wish at its presence.” She took in a deep breath. “It shoots by so quickly that people savor the short time they have with it.

I used to have this fantasy that in some distant Star Wars sequel, we’d finally stop all the shooting and screaming at each other and would go to a shopping-and-beauty planet, where the stormtroopers would have to get facials, and Chewbacca would have to get pedicures and bikini and eyebrow waxes. I felt at some point that I should get—okay, fine, maybe not equal time—but just a few scenes where we all did a lot of girly things. Imagine the shopping we might have done on Tatooine! Or a little Death Star souvenir shop where you could get T-shirts that said “My parents got the force and jumped to light speed and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!” or “My boyfriend blew Jabba the Hutt and all I got” . . . etc., etc. You get the gist of my drift.

St. Clair tucks the tips of his fingers into his pockets and kicks the cobblestones with the toe of his boots. "Well?" he finally asks. "Thank you." I'm stunned. "It was really sweet of you to bring me here." "Ah,well." He straightens up and shrugs-that full-bodied French shrug he does so well-and reassumes his usual, assured state of being. "Have to start somewhere. Now make a wish." "Huh?" I have such a way with words. I should write epic poetry or jingles for cat food commercials. He smiles. "Place your feet on the star, and make a wish." "Oh.Okay,sure." I slide my feet together so I'm standing in the center. "I wish-" "Don't say it aloud!" St. Clair rushes forward, as if to stop my words with his body,and my stomach flips violently. "Don't you know anything about making wishes? You only get a limited number in life. Falling stars, eyelashes,dandelions-" "Birthday candles." He ignores the dig. "Exactly. So you ought to take advantage of them when they arise,and superstition says if you make a wish on that star, it'll come true." He pauses before continuing. "Which is better than the other one I've heard." "That I'll die a painful death of poisoning, shooting,beating, and drowning?" "Hypothermia,not drowning." St. Clair laughs. He has a wonderful, boyish laugh. "But no. I've heard anyone who stands here is destined to return to Paris someday. And as I understand it,one year for you is one year to many. Am I right?" I close my eyes. Mom and Seany appear before me. Bridge.Toph.I nod. "All right,then.So keep your eyes closed.And make a wish." I take a deep breath. The cool dampness of the nearby trees fills my lungs. What do I want? It's a difficult quesiton. I want to go home,but I have to admit I've enjoyed tonight. And what if this is the only time in my entire life I visit Paris? I know I just told St. Clair that I don't want to be here, but there's a part of me-a teeny, tiny part-that's curious. If my father called tomorrow and ordered me home,I might be disappointed. I still haven't seen the Mona Lisa. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower.Walked beneath the Arc de Triomphe. So what else do I want? I want to feel Toph's lips again.I want him to wait.But there's another part of me,a part I really,really hate,that knows even if we do make it,I'd still move away for college next year.So I'd see him this Christmas and next summer,and then...would that be it? And then there's the other thing. The thing I'm trying to ignore. The thing I shouldn't want,the thing I can't have. And he's standing in front of me right now. So what do I wish for? Something I'm not sure I want? Someone I'm not sure I need? Or someone I know I can't have? Screw it.Let the fates decide. I wish for the thing that is best for me. How's that for a generalization? I open my eyes,and the wind is blowing harder. St. Clair pushes a strand of hair from his eyes. "Must have been a good one," he says.

The calm skies that drifted above us lulled us into thinking this traversée would be smooth, but after several hours, the unsteady sea had taken its toll on me and after a light lunch and a brief swim in the open sea failed to do so, I attempted to remedy my mal de mer with rest. When I awoke, the sun had already set and the cool air and soft light of twilight helped recalibrate my disoriented thoughts. Although my seasickness had subsided, I lay starboard side facing the heavens - that were now a deep shade of purple - so as to not provoke another episode. We set to anchoring behind several large volcanic pillars just a stone’s-throw away from where the Tyrrhenian Sea kissed the east of the island. A handful of wishes scattered the skies as we approached the shores of Aci Trezza. As these stars traced their dying song across the void above, part of me felt ashamed for even entertaining the notion of wishing upon a star, but that voice was speedily silenced by words He had once shared with me in Scotland: “There is always some truth to fiction.

...sometimes a person is miserable and despairing. The person lies flat on their back in a grassy field, gazes at the stars—and there is no wish. Instead, there's a sudden burst of wild determination, from deep within that person, a burst so powerful that it shoots up to the sky, sends a star spinning through space and time, sends the starlight cartwheeling, cracking into pieces—before looping and twirling back into the heart of the person on the grass. Do you know what that is?" "What?" I whispered. "It's a wish upon yourself.

Dear One Million and Two Dreams, I never knew my life was precious until a selfless human being saved it. I was so used to being caught in the tides, but the moon always untangled me. The moon has always been here with me, and I am forever grateful. The stars left a trail as I follow it to a selfless soul. The night sky was darker than the deep blue sea, but I was granted a night light from the shooting stars. I made one million and one wishes on dandelions, and one of those millions of wishes came true. The never-ending sky seemed like it was falling on me. However, now the endless skies had been lifted and are filled with unlimited opportunities. My wings were clipped, but they grew back. However, they have been clipped again, and the process will continue until I free myself from my past. I made a million wishes, but none of them were on my side. I was exposed to a cut-throat life that spoke a language of hate. The emptiness in my life had more than one million questions. However, I was immune to abandon answers. Although I had one million questions, I received two million answers that were one lie after another. I walked around with one million and one brown paper bags with words written on them in different shades of ink and a dull pencil lead. I have a heavy rush in my heart because I’ve been fighting for so long, and now I can rest. When I think about it, I do not need a million wishes to come true. I feel my lips curving as they form a smile. Once upon a time, I made a million and two wishes, and two of them came true. I have my brother and Nurse Hope in my life—Ember; how much better can life get than this? So much better.

Mindy runs to the DVD player and delicately places the disk in the holder and presses play. “Will you sit in this chair, please, Princess Mindy?” I ask, bowing deeply at the waist. Mindy giggles as she replies, ”I guess so.” After Mindy sits down, I take a wide-tooth comb and start gently combing out her tangles. Mindy starts vibrating with excitement as she blurts, “Mr. Jeff, you’re gonna fix my hair fancy, ain’t you?” “We’ll see if a certain Princess can hold still long enough for me to finish,” I tease. Immediately, Mindy becomes as still as a stone statue. After a couple of minutes, I have to say, “Mindy, sweetheart, it’s okay to breathe. I just can’t have you bouncing, because I’m afraid it will cause me to pull your hair.” Mindy slumps down in her chair just slightly. “Okay Mr. Jeff, I was ascared you was gonna stop,” she whispers, her chin quivering. I adopt a very fake, very over-the-top French accent and say, “Oh no, Monsieur Jeff must complete Princess Mindy’s look to make the Kingdom happy. Mindy erupts with the first belly laugh I’ve heard all day as she responds, “Okay, I’ll try to be still, but it’s hard ‘cause I have the wiggles real bad.” I pat her on the shoulder and chuckle as I say, “Just try your best, sweetheart. That’s all anyone can ask.” Kiera comes screeching around the corner in a blur, plunks her purse on the table, and says breathlessly, “Geez-O-Pete, I can’t believe I’m late for the makeover. I love makeovers.” Kiera digs through her purse and produces two bottles of nail polish and nail kit. “It’s time for your mani/pedi ma’am. Would you prefer Pink Pearl or Frosted Creamsicle? Mindy raises her hand like a schoolchild and Kiera calls on her like a pupil, “I want Frosted Cream toes please,” Mindy answers. “Your wish is my command, my dear,” Kiera responds with a grin. For the next few minutes, Mindy gets the spa treatment of her life as I carefully French braid her hair into pigtails. As a special treat, I purchased some ribbons from the gift shop and I’m weaving them into her hair. I tuck a yellow rose behind her ear. I don my French accent as I declare, “Monsieur Jeffery pronounces Princess Mindy finished and fit to rule the kingdom.” Kiera hands Mindy a new tube of grape ChapStick from her purse, “Hold on, a true princess never reigns with chapped lips,” she says. Mindy giggles as she responds, “You’re silly, Miss Kiera. Nobody in my kingdom is going to care if my lips are shiny.” Kiera’s laugh sounds like wind chimes as she covers her face with her hands as she confesses, “Okay, you busted me. I just like to use it because it tastes yummy.” “Okay, I want some, please,” Mindy decides. Kiera is putting the last minute touches on her as Mindy is scrambling to stand on Kiera’s thighs so she can get a better look in the mirror. When I reach out to steady her, she grabs my hand in a death grip. I glance down at her. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is opening and closing like a fish. I shoot Kiera a worried glance, but she merely shrugs. “Holy Sh — !” Mindy stops short when she sees Kiera’s expression. “Mr. Jeff is an angel for reals because he turned me into one. Look at my hair Miss Kiera, there are magic ribbons in it! I’m perfect. I can be anything I want to be.” Spontaneously, we all join together in a group hug. I kiss the top of her head as I agree, “Yes, Mindy, you are amazing and the sky is the limit for you.

I always believe that ideas are like shooting stars when you have one make it happen and not just wish.

Let's reach the moon Count every footstep Play among the stars And write our story with Ethereal stardust Let it slide as a shooting star, Too lovely to watch Let lovers wish Upon it

But wishing was best saved for birthday cakes, water fountains, and shooting stars.

I see a shooting star, though I need not make a wish, for The Cosmos knows already what I want for the world and All peoples; for them to see The Cosmos in wonderment as I do.

You need to be careful to stay out of Charlie’s line of sight,” Steve said to me. “I want Charlie focusing only on me. If he changes focus and starts attacking you, it’s going to be too difficult for me to control the situation.” Right. Steve got no argument from me. Getting anywhere near those bone-crushing jaws was the furthest thing from my mind. I wasn’t keen on being down on the water with a huge saltwater crocodile trying to get me. I would have to totally rely on Steve to keep me safe. We stepped into the dinghy, which was moored in Charlie’s enclosure, secured front and back with ropes. Charlie came over immediately to investigate. It didn’t take much to encourage him to have a go at Steve. Steve grabbed a top-jaw rope. He worked on roping Charlie while the cameras rolled. Time and time again, Charlie hurled himself straight at Steve, a half ton of reptile flesh exploding up out of the water a few feet away from me. I tried to hang on precariously and keep the boat counterbalanced. I didn’t want Steve to lose his footing and topple in. Charlie was one angry crocodile. He would have loved nothing more than to get his teeth into Steve. As Charlie used his powerful tail to propel himself out of the water, he arched his neck and opened his jaws wide, whipping his head back and forth, snapping and gnashing. Steve carefully threw the top-jaw rope, but he didn’t actually want to snag Charlie. Then he would have had to get the rope off without stressing the croc, and that would have been tricky. The cameras rolled. Charlie lunged. I cowered. Steve continued to deftly toss the rope. Then, all of a sudden, Charlie swung at the rope instead of Steve, and the rope went right over Charlie’s top jaw. A perfect toss, provided that had been what Steve was trying to do. But it wasn’t. We had a roped croc on our hands that we really didn’t want. Steve immediately let the rope go slack. Charlie had it snagged in his teeth. Because of Steve’s quick thinking and prompt maneuvering, the rope came clear. We breathed a collective sigh of relief. Steve looked up at the cameras. “I think you’ve got it.” John agreed. “I think we do, mate.” The crew cheered. The shoot lasted several minutes, but in the boat, I wasn’t sure if it had been seconds or hours. Watching Steve work Charlie up close had been amazing--a huge, unpredictable animal with a complicated thought process, able to outwit its prey, an animal that had been on the planet for millions of years, yet Steve knew how to manipulate him and got some fantastic footage. To the applause of the crew, Steve got us both out of the boat. He gave me a big hug. He was happy. This was what he loved best, being able to interact and work with wildlife. Never before had anything like it been filmed in any format, much less on thirty-five-millimeter film for a movie theater. We accomplished the shot with the insurance underwriters none the wiser. Steve wanted to portray crocs as the powerful apex predators that they were, keeping everyone safe while he did it. Never once did he want it to appear as though he were dominating the crocodile, or showing off by being in close proximity to it. He wished for the crocodile to be the star of the show, not himself. I was proud of him that day. The shoot represented Steve Irwin at his best, his true colors, and his desire to make people understand how amazing these animals are, to be witnessed by audiences in movie theaters all over the world. We filmed many more sequences with crocs, and each time Steve performed professionally and perfected the shots. He was definitely in his element. With the live-croc footage behind us, the insurance people came on board, and we were finally able to sign a contract with MGM. We were to start filming in earnest. First stop: the Simpson Desert, with perentie lizards and fierce snakes.

Steve looked up at the cameras. “I think you’ve got it.” John agreed. “I think we do, mate.” The crew cheered. The shoot lasted several minutes, but in the boat, I wasn’t sure if it had been seconds or hours. Watching Steve work Charlie up close had been amazing--a huge, unpredictable animal with a complicated thought process, able to outwit its prey, an animal that had been on the planet for millions of years, yet Steve knew how to manipulate him and got some fantastic footage. To the applause of the crew, Steve got us both out of the boat. He gave me a big hug. He was happy. This was what he loved best, being able to interact and work with wildlife. Never before had anything like it been filmed in any format, much less on thirty-five-millimeter film for a movie theater. We accomplished the shot with the insurance underwriters none the wiser. Steve wanted to portray crocs as the powerful apex predators that they were, keeping everyone safe while he did it. Never once did he want it to appear as though he were dominating the crocodile, or showing off by being in close proximity to it. He wished for the crocodile to be the star of the show, not himself. I was proud of him that day. The shoot represented Steve Irwin at his best, his true colors, and his desire to make people understand how amazing these animals are, to be witnessed by audiences in movie theaters all over the world. We filmed many more sequences with crocs, and each time Steve performed professionally and perfected the shots. He was definitely in his element.

He took our entwined hands and set them on his chest…which forced me to have to scoot closer to him, eating up space between us. I felt his heart beat under the back of my hand. I could hardly breathe. I didn’t want to move and break the contact. “Are you comfortable?” he murmured. I bunched the blanket at my head to make a better pillow and drew in a breath for my thankful lungs. “Yes.” His forearm was trapping my forearm against his side at the angle he held our hands. “And this…” he rubbed his thumb along mine. Again…electricity ran through my veins. “Is okay?” My heart hitched in my chest. “Yes.” He repeated the action and he could have asked me anything and I probably would have said yes. He sighed out a breath. “I’m glad,” he whispered. “I don’t think I could let go if you asked me.” His fingers contracted. His face turned toward me, but I did not look up into the hood. I studied our hands on his chest. “Nothing has felt this good…this right, in a long time, Nerissa.” He said it so softly I thought I had imagined it. I smiled, afraid to say anything. Knowing me…I would burst into tears. His other hand reached to touch my cheek and I felt him lean in…his breath was on my face. I closed my eyes. “I think he’s going to kiss her,” Amelia crowed. “Yuck!” His nearness was taken away…but my hand remained in his. “What are you two little monkeys cackling about?” Liam chuckled. Amelia smiled innocently. “Uncle Ian says…” “We don’t want to hear what Uncle Ian has to say,” Liam growled playfully. “Now lie down here and watch for those shooting stars you were hoping for. Daddy needs one to wish on tonight.” Brianne giggled. “You going to wish for a kiss, Daddy?

The next time that you find yourself surrounded by darkness, I hope that you will consider that you need not necessarily look to the night skies in search of a guiding star to offer hope. You don’t essentially have to depend on a shooting star as a prospect or token that you’re now able to make a wish that may actually stand a chance of coming to pass.

I held him beneath all those glittering constellations, and as the tide rolled in, I wished on every shooting star I saw that this little moment could grow into forever.

That's who I was to my core---a person who believed in magic. Who found secrets tucked into the fabric of the universe. Who wished on shooting stars and took leaps of faith based on nothing but feelings.

No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.” “But poetry, romance, love, beauty? These are what we stay alive for!” “Please, don't worry so much. Because in the end, none of us have very long on this Earth. Life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night. And when a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day... make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular.

The starry sky is absolutely gorgeous tonight. Maybe I'll see a shooting star and can make a wish...especially since I'm getting told to get off my phone.

I was still a young girl when I learned that not every penny tossed in a fountain or plea with a shooting star would grant me a wish, and that not every story ends in a happily ever after. And as discouraging as that revelation was, it never deterred me from holding out hope.

When she saw a shooting star streak overhead, she asked her beloved what he wished for, and he said he only wished to sit there with her for as long as forever.

whether wishes were made by blowing out birthday candles or on a shooting star, they never came true.

You wished on shooting stars all your life. You don't see that we are shooting stars and the night wont wait for us to turn the world ablaze.

My shooting star wish would truthfully be to never leave your side. To be the one who will be there to encourage you in all your hopes and dreams. Be there if you fail so I can pick you back up and never let anything bad happen to you again.

That’s the thing with a shooting star. By the time someone asks if you saw it, it’s already gone.

If Only We Could Be Together If only Linus and I could walk downtown on Thursday nights when musicians play on the street corners and art galleries serve crackers and cheese. If only we could dance on the sidewalk, look up at the sequined sky, and wish upon the same shooting star. If only Linus could teach me chords on his guitar, reach around to adjust my fingers and help me strum. If only we could sing about autumn mist and sealing wax, hear out voices mingle, and stir the air as one, And by being with Linus I;d figure it out. I'd learn what love it. If only Linus would kiss me, touch the skin under my shirt, press his fingers to my ribs, and feel my beating heart. Then I'd know. I know I'd know. I'd know I was in love.

But in all these tales the dog is the innocent shooting star we all wish upon until it burns up, aging fast and disappearing behind our jagged horizons. Each dog marks a section of our lives, and in the end, we feed them to the dark, burying them there while we carry on.

It is not as if I want to be a princess. Since I was four years old I've spent every birthday, shooting star, wishbone, and lost eyelash wishing I did not have to be a princess!

Mango Tree" I wish I had a mango tree In my backyard With you standin next to me Take the picture From her lips I heard her say Can I have you Caught up on what to say I said you do I said you do I said you do Through my eyes I can see A shooting star Weavn it's way across the sea Somewhere from mars Down the street we would run To scratch our names in the park Young and free in the sun Wheels upon the tar I said you do I said you do I said you do I said you do I wish I had a mango tree In my backyard With you standin next to me Take the picture From her lips I heard her say Can I have you Caught up on what to say I said you do I said you do I said you do I said you do I said you do

Only the ones with wishes, are able to see the shooting stars.

What's the different between a shooting star and a falling house?" "One which is propitious grants delicious wishes, the other which is vicious squishes witches.

It’s more than nice, Mallory. Your smile is the thing I want most in the world. I spend every waking moment trying to find new ways to get you to give it to me. I wish for it on every shooting star and repeating

I wished for Conrad on every birthday, every shooting star, every lost eyelash, every penny in a fountain was dedicated to the one I loved. I thought it would always be that way.

for Falasteen the boy i adored at sixteen gifted me his keffiyeh feeling guilty for living when others were killed simply for existing i haven’t seen him in sixteen years but think of him often these days his grandmother’s purse still carrying keys to their home believing they’d return in weeks can it even be called a key if what it unlocked is no longer there? we’d sneak onto mall rooftops & pretend shooting only happened with stars! 'we have a duty of memory,' he said, 'so they’ll kill us all until only the soil is witness' how could i reply? i sat in my liquid silence today there are nurseries of martyrs they bomb babies for they fear enemies hiding between pacifiers & tiny wrists bomb hospitals because enemies hide in ICU bedpans bomb schools because enemies hide in children’s bags bomb the oldest mosques & churches because enemies hide in rosary beads & votive candles they bomb journalists because enemies are hiding under their PRESS vests & helmets bomb poets because enemies hide in pages of peace poems the elderly are bombed because enemies hide under their canes the disabled are bombed because they harbour enemies in their artificial limbs they raze & burn all the ancient trees because enemies make bombs from olives they bomb water treatment plants because enemies are now water & so it goes: justification provided exoneration granted business as usual & the boy I adored has green-grey eyes the colour of fig leaves we don’t speak but i wish to tell him 'i’m sorry the world is a blade i’m sorry home is blood & bones i’m sorry music is sirens & wails i’m sorry night is infinite' but the boy I adored has grey-green eyes the colour of forgotten ash

do you ever wonder when night falls if we even share the same moon at all? it feels like we’re in two different worlds we’re falling apart i wish on every shooting star but you’re still too far

The rays of the moon shone down through the skylight. She scooped up some water and gazed at it floating in her hands. It made her smile. It was because she took pleasure in things like this that she could live so cheaply. She got out of the bath and put on her nightgown, then went up to the roof to enjoy the lukewarm breeze in the cool of evening. A shooting star flashed in the distance, and she thought of making a wish, but realized there was nothing left to hope for.

There isn’t a single shooting star in the sky tonight, and I’m glad for it. I don’t need to ask for wishes now; I have choices all my own. Ones that will always be built on love, on hope, and on infinite, daunting, beautiful realms of possibility.

Mines and trenches were just the obvious applications. Teller also suggested using hydrogen bombs to change the weather, to melt ice to yield fresh water, and to mass-produce diamonds. (Another unconventional suggestion attributed to him was to close off the Strait of Gibraltar, making the Mediterranean a lake suitable for irrigating crops.) Ted Taylor, a bomb designer, argued that nuclear bombs would be able to drive a rocket into deep space, even to other stars.21 Teller even found the idea of bombing the moon incredibly enticing. “One will probably not resist for long the temptation to shoot at the moon . . . to observe what kind of disturbance it might cause,” he wrote.

They’d seen a lot of shooting stars lately. They’d made a lot of wishes.

Maybe it’s cheesy to wish on numbers, or on shooting stars, but I’ll take all the potential luck the universe tosses my way.