In the presence of eternity, the mountains are as transient as the clouds.
All of us have a place in history. Mine is clouds.
I think I will be able to, in the end, rise above the clouds and climb the stairs to Heaven, and I will look down on my beautiful life.
Our mind is like a cloudy sky: in essence clear and pure, but overcast by clouds of delusions. Just as the thickest clouds can disperse, so, too, even the heaviest delusions can be removed from our mind.
My experiences remind me that it's those black clouds that make the blue skies even more beautiful.
The truth is the kindest thing we can give folks in the end.
The humble Cumulus humilis - never hurt a soul.
So fine was the morning except for a streak of wind here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea.
The air up there in the clouds is very pure and fine, bracing and delicious. And why shouldn't it be?--it is the same the angels breathe.
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