I remember when we read R. W. Emerson’s essay Nature in second year at the uni, our teacher started a class by saying that star-gazing may seem cheap to a contemporary reader, and I thought: “Well, yeah. A bit.”
And now I’m going to write about stars myself. You drove me into an identity corner again, world.
“[…] if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars. The rays that come from those heavenly worlds, will separate between him and what he touches” 
Recently, I was so sad that I didn’t know what to do. Yes, it sounds ridiculous, but that’s how it felt. So after some time of soaking my pillow, I came up to the window, drew the curtains and there it was — my piece of Kraków at night, and above a black sky with some stars .
And you know what? Looking at them helped.
I was finally able to look at my fears as separate from me.
“The stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present, they are inaccessible” 
I don’t know about reverence. But having those “little”, “shiny” things always there actually brings some certainty back into my mind.
There is also an article, written by the awesome Jonathan Goldstein, which I remember at such times and recommend reading to anyone and everyone: From the angle of the angels, salad dressings look sad.
 That’s Emerson.
 It would be nice to write “full of stars”, but I live in Kraków.
 Nice guessing. That’s also Emerson.