Did they launch the last space shuttle yet?" "" Sundown "I don't follow." "" Ren "I'm just thinking maybe we should evacuate the whole planet. I've heard the moon is kind of nice this time of year." "" Sundown "Focus your ADD, Jess." "" Ren "I gotcha, brother. What you're forecasting is six more plagues coming out of the northwest at maximum velocity with a mild chance of survival. Followed by the world getting swallowed whole in a vat of evil." "" Sundown
I'm not as good as a man as you are, Sundown. I find it hard to give an enemy my back under any circumstance." "" Ren "Oh, I didn't say I was giving her my back. I'm not lacking all my noodle sense. But I'm not holding a grudge neither. Sometimes you just got to let the rattlesnake lay in the sun." "" Sundown "Men? You do know I'm standing in this little box with you and can hear every word?" "" Abigail "We know. I merely don't care." "" Ren
I remember the Chillicothe ballplayers grappling the Long Island ball players in a sixteen-inning game ended by darkness. And the shoulders of the Chillicothe players were a red smoke against the sundown and the shoulders of the Rock Island players were a yellow smoke against the sundown. And the umpire's voice was hoarse calling balls and strikes and outs and the umpire's throat fought in the dust for a song.
We don't have to do this. I can fight Coyote. We have the ability to defeat him." "" Sundown "Are you out of your effing mind? Hello? Where have you been for the last two days? I want whatever screwed-up glasses you're looking through. 'Cause from where I've been standing, we've been getting our asses seriously kicked around the block. Up a few stairs and down again." "" Sasha
All right. I will be a man about this... I'm so sorry Bets. I should have hidden the keys. Booted your tires. Something. I had no idea anyone would abuse you so, baby. I swear I'll never let anyone hurt you again. Ayyy, how could they do this to you? How? Oh the humanity!" "" Andy "I really need to get that boy a girlfriend- or at least laid." "" Sundown
You're seriously not joking?" "" Sundown "Really? How many more times are you going to ask me that? I could be on a beach right now with my wife, son, and daughter, baking in the sun while they frolic and play. Am I? No. I'm here, and I want nothing more than to yank you around with bullshit 'cause this gets me off more than my wife running in a bikini." "" Zarek
I killed your friends." "" Abigail "And I'm not happy about that. But your head wasn't screwed on right. It's easy to let the enemies in and listen to them sometimes, especially when they're pretending to be your best friends who only want the best for you. At least that's what they claim. They're insidious bastards, telling you what you want to hear and using your emotions to manipulate you think doing their bidding." "" Sundown
We're not dead yet." "" Sundown "Yet is the operative word. If that's all that's in the way, I'll kill you and end it. Ren? Give me your knife." "" Sasha "It's their decision." "" Ren "Oh, that's it. You're fired buddy. Get off my island until you learn to be a team player." "" Sasha
But because day at her dawning hours hath so bewitched me, must I yet love her when glutted with triumph she settles to garish noon?... Who dares call me turncoat, who do but follow now as I have followed this rare wisdom all my days: to love the sunrise and the sundown and the morning and the evening star.
Why who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know nothing else but miracles, whether they be animals feeding in the fields, Or, birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air, Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright, Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring; These, with the rest, one and all, are to me, miracles.
I speak of new cities and new people I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes. I tell you yesterday is a wind gone down, a sun dropped in the west. I tell you there is nothing in the world only an ocean of tomorrows. a sky of tomorrows. I am a brother of the cornhuskers who say at sundown: Tomorrow is a day.' - Carl Sandburg, Cornhuskers
Take a quick dip, relax with a schnapps and a sandwich, stretch out, have a smoke, take a nap or just rest, and then sit around and chat until three. Then I hunt some more until sundown, bathe again, put on white tie and tails to keep up appearances, eat a huge dinner, smoke a cigar and sleep like a log until the sun comes up again to redden the eastern sky. This is living... . Could it be more perfect?
The conditions were terrible. The farmworkers were only earning about 70 cents an hour at that time - 90 cents was the highest wage that they were earning. They didn't have toilets in the fields; they didn't have cold drinking water. They didn't have rest periods. People worked from sunup to sundown. It was really atrocious.
How innocent were these Trees, that in Mist-green May, blown by a prospering breeze, Stood garlanded and gay; Who now in sundown glow Of serious colour clad confront me with their show As though resigned and sad, Trees, who unwhispering stand umber, bronze, gold; Pavilioning the land for one grown tired and old; Elm, chestnut, aspen and pine, I am merged in you, Who tell once more in tones of time, Your foliaged farewell.
They hammered on the outer gate and called, but there was at first no answer; and then to their surprise someone blew a horn, and the lights in the windows went out. A voice shouted in the dark: 'Who's that? Be off! You can't come in. Can't you read the notice: No admittance between sundown and sunrise?' 'Of course we can't read the notice in the dark, ' Sam shouted back. 'And if hobbits of the Shire are to be kept out in the wet on a night like this, I'll tear down your notice when I find it.
Pulling out his daggers, he kept them in his sleeves, just in case he happened upon someone who wouldn't understand why a tall, dark-haired man wearing really dark sunglasses and unseasonably warm clothing would be armed to his fangs. Really, Officer, I was trying to protect humanity by killing these things that suck human souls out to live past their twenty-seventh birthday just didn't cut it. Why no one would believe that, he couldn't imagine. Really, the audacity of modern courts and judges.' "" Sundown
Night is the permanent revolution, that of the globe. Every sundown the streets change, becoming sinister or libidinous, or, for that matter, longer or narrower or unexpectedly twisted. The familiar rebels against those who presume to know it. The map is altered and time is telescoped. Daylight restores things to their normal condition, or is that really their normal condition? The map of the city wrinkles and unfolds, wrinkles and unfolds.
All his life Robert Grainier would remember vividly the burned valley at sundown, the most dreamlike business he'd ever witnessed waking""the brilliant pastels of the last light overhead, some clouds high and white, catching daylight from beyond the valley, others ribbed and gray and pink, the lowest of them rubbing the peaks of Bussard and Queen mountains; and beneath this wondrous sky the black valley, utterly still, the train moving through it making a great noise but unable to wake this dead world.
As for me, I know nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water, Or stand under the trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love, Or sleep in bed at night with any one I love, Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon... Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, Or of stars shining so quiet and bright, Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring... What stranger miracles are there?
There!" Mars finished writing and threw the scroll at Octavian. "A prophecy. You can add it to your books, engrave it on the floor, whatever." Octavian read the scroll. "This says, 'Go to Alaska. Find Thanatos and free him. Come back by sundown on June twenty-fourth or die'." "Yes," Mars said. "Is that not clear?" "Well, my lord...usually prophecies are unclear. They're wrapped in riddles. They rhyme, and..." Mars casually popped another grenade off his belt. "Yes?" "The prophecy is clear!" Octavian announced. "A quest!
The last glow of sundown dims away. Stars appear in the east. Night encloses us. The ocean seems to enlarge. When you're adrift at night, imagination and perception merge. They have to. You can't see as well, as far, as deep. You tie knots by muscle memory, and you operate your reel mostly by feel. Your boat drifts, your thoughts drift. You sense the sweep of tide and water, and the boat gets rocked in turbulence just past each undersea ridgeline and boulder field. You, too, are looking up, searching constellations, dreaming. You fell again how flexible and expansive your mind can be when it's working right. And you slip your leash to explore the vast vault of sky and great interior spaces.
And the next day the gondolier came with a train of other gondoliers, all decked in their holiday garb, and on his gondola sat Angela, happy, and blushing at her happiness. Then he and she entered the house in which I dwelt, and came into my room (and it was strange indeed, after so many years of inversion, to see her with her head above her feet!), and then she wished me happiness and a speedy restoration to good health (which could never be); and I in broken words and with tears in my eyes, gave her the little silver crucifix that had stood by my bed or my table for so many years. And Angela took it reverently, and crossed herself, and kissed it, and so departed with her delighted husband. And as I heard the song of the gondoliers as they went their way-the song dying away in the distance as the shadows of the sundown closed around me-I felt that they were singing the requiem of the only love that had ever entered my heart.
Yo we got budda and bootie to blaze and bounce when we chill consumed by hooters that truly make me bounce on her filth. Fireplace fondling fingers in your fun house growlin out mother nature till it's sundown. Well it's the toxic bug, the gov rocks the club if you fly I'm the pilot for your cockpit love. Bathin with black bootie booties like the prince of Zamunda love is blind rich is prior like. I might be beady with my pipe but just navel captain Shabby will not explore down under unless you shave you marra fatty. Too right govner ain't nothing knew to this cunty so drop you dacks young love so I sex you without undies. There was a beaver two calves when I found her lair a hundred crabs and an xxx with a thousand hairs. Apparent xxxxx that plays hair tricks on my mind an oily oyster and a dead fish I can't find.
Bliss N Eso
Most of these stories are on the tragic side. But the reader must not suppose that the incidents I have narrated were of common occurrence. The vast majority of these people, government servants, planters, and traders, who spent their working lives in Malaya were ordinary people ordinarily satisfied with their station in life. They did the jobs they were paid to do more or less competently, . They were as happy with their wives as are most married couples. They led humdrum lives and did very much the same things every day. Sometimes by way of a change they got a little shooting; but at a rule, after they had done their day's work, they played tennis if there were people to play with, went to the club at sundown if there was a club in the vicinity, drank in moderation, and played bridge. They had their little tiffs, their little jealousies, their little flirtations, their little celebrations. They were good, decent, normal people. I respect, and even admire, such people, but they are not the sort of people I can write stories about. I write stories about people who have some singularity of character which suggests to me that they may be capable of behaving in such a way as to give me an idea that I can make use of, or about people who by some accident or another, accident of temperament, accident of environment, have been involved in unusual contingencies. But, I repeat, they are the exception.
W. Somerset Maugham
No parent should have to bury a child... No mother should have to bury a son. Mothers are not meant to bury sons. It is not in the natural order of things. I buried my son. In a potter's field. In a field of Blood. In empty, acrid silence. There was no funeral. There were no mourners. His friends all absent. His father dead. His sisters refusing to attend. I discovered his body alone, I dug his grave alone, I placed him in a hole, and covered him with dirt and rock alone. I was not able to finish burying him before sundown, and I'm not sure if that affected his fate... I begrudge God none of this. I do not curse him or bemoan my lot. And though my heart keeps beating only to keep breaking-I do not question why. I remember the morning my son was born as if it was yesterday. The moment the midwife placed him in my arms, I was infused with a love beyond all measure and understanding. I remember holding my son, and looking over at my own mother and saying, "Now I understand why the sun comes up at day and the stars come out at night. I understand why rain falls gently. Now I understand you, Mother"... I loved my son every day of his life, and I will love him ferociously long after I've stopped breathing. I am a simple woman. I am not bright or learn-ed. I do not read. I do not write. My opinions are not solicited. My voice is not important... On the day of my son's birth I was infused with a love beyond all measure and understanding... The world tells me that God is in Heaven and that my son is in Hell. I tell the world the one true thing I know: If my son is in Hell, then there is no Heaven-because if my son sits in Hell, there is no God.
Stephen Adly Guirgis