Sunlit Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
sing-your-songs-of-the-morning-sunlit-sky
yet-we-always-envy-others-comparing-our-shadows-to-their-sunlit-sides-margaret-george
but-few-are-those-who-tread-sunlit-path-only-pure-in-soul-can-walk-in-light-sri-aurobindo
yes-i-know-interrupted-puddleglum-and-few-return-to-sunlit-lands-you-neednt-say-it-again-you-are-chap-one-idea-arent-you-c-s-lewis
and-he-took-her-in-his-arms-kissed-her-under-sunlit-sky-he-cared-not-that-they-stood-high-upon-walls-in-sight-many-jrr-tolkien
6-us-stand-in-sunlit-room-oversized-prepare-for-more-expand-floor-knock-down-wall-grey-area
some-memories-find-permanent-place-in-heart-we-remember-those-times-as-being-sunlit-beautiful-anamika-mishra
if-we-can-stand-up-to-hitler-all-europe-may-be-free-life-world-may-move-forward-into-broad-sunlit-uplands-winston-churchill
say-that-we-can-spent-day-through-sunlit-afternoon-let-your-kisses-say-you-stay-here-and-make-love-to-me-tenderly-here-as-we-share-silent-moon-barbra-streisand
what-surprises-you-in-life-the-marvel-consciousness-that-sudden-window-swinging-open-on-sunlit-landscape-amidts-night-nonbeing-vladimir-nabokov
he-was-incomparable-painter-mystery-silence-infinite-passing-cloud-sunlit-shimmer-wavessubleties-which-none-before-him-had-been-capable-claude-debussy
love-as-is-told-by-seers-old-comes-as-butterfly-tipped-with-gold-flutters-flies-in-sunlit-skies-weaving-round-hearts-that-were-one-time-cold-algernon-charles-swinburne
poetry-is-silence-speech-between-wet-struggling-root-flower-sunlit-blossom-that-flower-carl-sandburg
my-girl-lets-dance-across-that-sunlit-room-oh-my-girl-ill-hold-you-in-afternoon-jesse-sykes-and-the-sweet-hereafter
in-heaven-after-ages-ages-growing-glory-we-shall-have-to-say-as-each-new-wave-shoreless-sunlit-sea-bears-us-onward-it-doth-not-yet-appear-what-we-alexander-maclaren
in-our-modern-age-there-are-writers-who-have-heaped-scorn-on-idea-primacy-story-id-rather-warm-my-hands-on-sunlit-ice-floe-than-try-to-coax-fire-from-books-they-carve-from-glacie
plato-described-ordinary-life-as-unthinking-lived-in-dim-cave-shadowy-reflections-but-said-that-it-is-possible-to-leave-cave-see-things-in-sunlit-huston-smith
below-surface-i-lie-dreaming-haunting-images-in-all-colours-black-sunlit-sometimes-there-is-no-sun-there-i-keep-dream-below-surface-cracked-mask-absolute-wynand-de-beer
only-god-is-able-it-is-faith-in-him-that-we-must-rediscover-with-this-faith-we-can-transform-bleak-desolate-valleys-into-sunlit-paths-joy-bring-new-light-into-dark-caverns-pessim
purple-as-tulips-in-may-mauve-into-lush-velvet-purple-as-stain-blackberries-leave-on-lips-on-hands-purple-ripe-grapes-sunlit-warm-as-flesh-marge-piercy
And you can glance out the window for a moment, distracted by the sound of small kids playing a made-up game in a neighbor's yard, some kind of kickball maybe, and they speak in your voice, or piggyback races on the weedy lawn, and it's your voice you hear, essentially, under the glimmerglass sky, and you look at the things in the room, offscreen, unwebbed, the tissued grain of the deskwood alive in light, the thick lived tenor of things, the argument of things to be seen and eaten, the apple core going sepia in the lunch tray, and the dense measures of experience in a random glance, the monk's candle reflected in the slope of the phone, hours marked in Roman numerals, and the glaze of the wax, and the curl of the braided wick, and the chipped rim of the mug that holds your yellow pencils, skewed all crazy, and the plied lives of the simplest surface, the slabbed butter melting on the crumbled bun, and the yellow of the yellow of the pencils, and you try to imagine the word on the screen becoming a thing in the world, taking all its meanings, its sense of serenities and contentments out into the streets somehow, its whisper of reconciliation, a word extending itself ever outward, the tone of agreement or treaty, the tone of repose, the sense of mollifying silence, the tone of hail and farewell, a word that carries the sunlit ardor of an object deep in drenching noon, the argument of binding touch, but it's only a sequence of pulses on a dullish screen and all it can do is make you pensive-a word that spreads a longing through the raw sprawl of the city and out across the dreaming bournes and orchards to the solitary hills. Peace.

Don DeLillo
and-you-can-glance-out-window-for-moment-distracted-by-sound-small-kids-playing-madeup-game-in-neighbors-yard-some-kind-kickball-maybe-they-speak-in-your-voice-piggyback-races-on
As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing (2 Corinthians 6:10). Sorrow was beautiful, but her beauty was the beauty of the moonlight shining through the leafy branches of the trees in the wood, and making little pools of silver here and there on the soft green moss below. When Sorrow sang, her notes were like the low sweet call of the nightingale, and in her eyes was the unexpectant gaze of one who has ceased to look for coming gladness. She could weep in tender sympathy with those who weep, but to rejoice with those who rejoice was unknown to her. Joy was beautiful, too, but his was the radiant beauty of the summer morning. His eyes still held the glad laughter of childhood, and his hair had the glint of the sunshine's kiss. When Joy sang his voice soared upward as the lark's, and his step was the step of a conqueror who has never known defeat. He could rejoice with all who rejoice, but to weep with those who weep was unknown to him. "But we can never be united, " said Sorrow wistfully. "No, never." And Joy's eyes shadowed as he spoke. "My path lies through the sunlit meadows, the sweetest roses bloom for my gathering, and the blackbirds and thrushes await my coming to pour forth their most joyous lays." "My path, " said Sorrow, turning slowly away, "leads through the darkening woods, with moon-flowers only shall my hands be filled. Yet the sweetest of all earth-songs-the love song of the night-shall be mine; farewell, Joy, farewell." Even as she spoke they became conscious of a form standing beside them; dimly seen, but of a Kingly Presence, and a great and holy awe stole over them as they sank on their knees before Him. "I see Him as the King of Joy, " whispered Sorrow, "for on His Head are many crowns, and the nailprints in His hands and feet are the scars of a great victory. Before Him all my sorrow is melting away into deathless love and gladness, and I give myself to Him forever." "Nay, Sorrow, " said Joy softly, "but I see Him as the King of Sorrow, and the crown on His head is a crown of thorns, and the nailprints in His hands and feet are the scars of a great agony. I, too, give myself to Him forever, for sorrow with Him must be sweeter than any joy that I have known." "Then we are one in Him, " they cried in gladness, "for none but He could unite Joy and Sorrow." Hand in hand they passed out into the world to follow Him through storm and sunshine, in the bleakness of winter cold and the warmth of summer gladness, "as sorrowful yet always rejoicing." Should Sorrow lay her hand upon thy shoulder, And walk with thee in silence on life's way, While Joy, thy bright companion once, grown colder, Becomes to thee more distant day by day? Shrink not from the companionship of Sorrow, She is the messenger of God to thee; And thou wilt thank Him in His great tomorrow For what thou knowest not now, thou then shalt see; She is God's angel, clad in weeds of night, With 'whom we walk by faith and not by sight.

Mrs. Charles E. Cowman
as-sorrowful-yet-always-rejoicing-2-corinthians-610-sorrow-was-beautiful-but-her-beauty-was-beauty-moonlight-shining-through-leafy-branches-trees-in-wood-making-little-pools-silv
Last year I had a very unusual experience. I was awake, with my eyes closed, when I had a dream. It was a small dream about time. I was dead, I guess, in deep black space high up among many white stars. My own consciousness had been disclosed to me, and I was happy. Then I saw far below me a long, curved band of color. As I came closer, I saw that it stretched endlessly in either direction, and I understood that I was seeing all the time of the planet where I had lived. It looked like a woman's tweed scarf; the longer I studied any one spot, the more dots of color I saw. There was no end to the deepness and variety of the dots. At length, I started to look for my time, but, although more and more specks of color and deeper and more intricate textures appeared in the fabric, I couldn't find my time, or any time at all that I recognized as being near my time. I couldn't make out so much as a pyramid. Yet as I looked at the band of time, all the individual people, I understood with special clarity, were living at the very moment with great emotion, in intricate detail, in their individual times and places, and they were dying and being replaced by ever more people, one by one, like stitches in which whole worlds of feeling and energy were wrapped, in a never-ending cloth. I remembered suddenly the color and texture of our life as we knew it- these things had been utterly forgotten- and I thought as I searched for it on the limitless band, 'that was a good time then, a good time to be living.' And I began to remember our time. I recalled green fields with carrots growing, one by one, in slender rows. Men and women in bright vests and scarves came and pulled the carrots out of the soil and carried them in baskets to shaded kitchens, where they scrubbed them with yellow brushes under running water... I saw may apples in forest, erupting through leaf-strewn paths. Cells on the root hairs of sycamores split and divided and apples grew striped and spotted in the fall. Mountains kept their cool caves, and squirrels raced home to their nests through sunlight and shade. I remembered the ocean, and I seemed to be in the ocean myself, swimming over orange crabs that looked like coral, or off the deep Atlantic banks where whitefish school. Or again I saw the tops of poplars, and the whole sky brushed with clouds in pallid streaks, under which wilds ducks flew, and called, one by one, and flew on. All these things I saw. Scenes grew in depth and sunlit detail before my eyes, and were replaced by ever more scenes, as I remembered the life of my time with increasing feeling. At last I saw the earth as a globe in space, and I recalled the ocean's shape and the form of continents, saying to myself with surprise as I looked at the planet, 'Yes, that's how it was then, that part there we called 'France''. I was filled with the deep affection of nostalgia- and then I opened my eyes.

Annie Dillard
last-year-i-had-unusual-experience-i-was-awake-with-my-eyes-closed-when-i-had-dream-it-was-small-dream-about-time-i-was-dead-i-guess-in-deep-black-space-high-up-among-many-white-
Last year I had a very unusual experience. I was awake, with my eyes closed, when I had a dream. It was a small dream about time. I was dead, I guess, in deep blank space high up above many white stars. My own consciousness had been disclosed to me, and I was happy. Then I saw far below me a long, curved band of color. As I came closer, I saw that it stretched endlessly in either direction, and I understood that I was seeing all the time of the planet where I had lived. It looked like a woman's tweed scarf; the longer I studied any one spot, the more dots of color I saw. There was no end to the deepness and variety of dots. At length I started to look for my time, but, although more and more specks of color and deeper and more intricate textures appeared in the fabric, I couldn't find my time, or any time at all that I recognized as being near my time. I couldn't make out so much as a pyramid. Yet as I looked at the band of time, all the individual people, I understood with special clarity, were living at that very moment with great emotion, in intricate, detail, in their individual times and places, and they were dying and being replaced by ever more people, one by one, like stitches in which wholly worlds of feeling and energy were wrapped in a never-ending cloth. I remembered suddenly the color and texture of our life as we knew it- these things had been utterly forgotten- and I thought as I searched for it on the limitless band, 'that was a good time then, a good time to be living.' And I began to remember our time. I recalled green fields with carrots growing, one by one, in slender rows. Men and women in bright vests and scarves came and pulled the carrots out of the soil and carried them in baskets to shaded kitchens, where they scrubbed them with yellow brushes under running water. I saw white-faced cattle lowing and wading in creeks. I saw May apples in forests, erupting through leaf-strewn paths. Cells on the root hairs of sycamores split and divided, and apples grew spotted and striped in the fall. Mountains kept their cool caves and squirrels raced home to their nests through sunlight and shade. I remembered the ocean, and I seemed to be in the ocean myself, swimming over orange crabs that looked like coral, or off the deep Atlantic banks where whitefish school. Or again I saw the tops of poplars, and the whole sky brushed with clouds in pallid streaks, under which wild ducks flew with outstretched necks, and called, one by one, and flew on. All these things I saw. Scenes grew in depth and sunlit detail before my eyes, and were replaced by ever more scenes, as I remember the life of my time with increasing feeling. At last I saw the earth as a globe in space, and I recalled the ocean's shape and the form of continents, saying to myself with surprise as I looked at the planet, 'yes, that's how it was then, that part there was called France.' I was filled with the deep affection of nostalgia- and then I opened my eyes. We all ought to be able to conjure up sights like these at will, so that we can keep in mind the scope of texture's motion in time.

Annie Dillard
last-year-i-had-unusual-experience-i-was-awake-with-my-eyes-closed-when-i-had-dream-it-was-small-dream-about-time-i-was-dead-i-guess-in-deep-blank-space-high-up-above-many-white-
?Earn cash when you save a quote by clicking
EARNED Load...
LEVEL : Load...