Quotes
Quotes about Sun
Benefits are acceptable, while the receiver thinks he may return them; but once exceeding that, hatred is given instead of thanks. [Lat., Beneficia usque eo laeta sunt dum videntur exsolvi posse; ubi multum antevenere pro gratia odium redditur.]
Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood; And those that under Araby's soft sun Build their high nests of budding cinnamon.
The birds have ceased their songs, All save the blackbird, that from yon tall ash, 'Mid Pinkie's greenery, from his mellow throat, In adoration of the setting sun, Chants forth his evening hymn.
These eyes, tho' clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot, Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, not bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward.
Books, books, books! I had found the secret of a garret room Piled high with cases in my father's name; Piled high, packed large,--where, creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past, Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there At this or that box, pulling through the gap, In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy, The first book first. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow, in the morning's dark, An hour before the sun would let me read! My books! At last, because the time was ripe, I chanced upon the poets.
I spent a year in that town, one Sunday.
Solid men of Boston, make no long orations; Solid men of Boston, drink no long potations; Solid men of Boston, go to bed at sundown; Never lose your way like the loggerheads of London.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest! . . . . By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung.
If you would be pungent, be brief; for it is with words as with sunbeams--the more they are condensed, the deeper they burn.
FOUR FLOWERS The Sun Arose in Morning Glory with His Goldenrod Wanding Violet to Rose (to C and R Davis of Maryland).
Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones.
Anyone can carry his burden, however heavy, until nightfall. Anyone can do his work, however hard, for one day. Anyone can live sweetly, patiently, lovingly, purely, until the sun goes down. And this is all that life really means.
The buttercups, bright-eyed and bold, Held up their chalices of gold To catch the sunshine and the dew.
The buttercups across the field Made sunshine rifts of splendor.
With the rose the butterfly's deep in love, A thousand times hovering round; But round himself, all tender like gold, The sun's sweet ray is hovering found.
Far out at sea,--the sun was high, While veer'd the wind and flapped the sail, We saw a snow-white butterfly Dancing before the fitful gale, Far out at sea.
Sing away, ay, sing away, Merry little bird Always gayest of the gay, Though a woodland roundelay You ne'er sung not heard; Though your life from youth to age Passes is a narrow cage.
No sensible man (among the many things that have been written on this kind) ever imputed inconsistency to another for changing his mind. [Lat., Nemo doctus unquam (multa autem de hoc genere scripta sunt) mutationem consili inconstantiam dixit esse.]
Whose foot is on the treadle/That turns the burning stars/Has spun the world half way round/Since last I called/Come down, come down. That stars that in September/Looked through the mournful rain/Now set their sight again/Upon a world half night, half light Men of distant years have said/That much depends on change of seasons/On solstices and equinox/And they have given reasons. I disagree./Too much turns on inadvertence/On what seems to be/An accident of hand and knee/A chance sunrise/A glance of eyes.
Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun, Grow pure by being purely shone upon.
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrained And prayed me oft forbearance--did it with A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't Might well have warmed old Saturn--that I thought her As chaste as unsunned snow.
It is good To lengthen to the last a sunny mood.
Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow.
A good laugh is sunshine in a house.
They are idols of hearts and of households; They are angels of God in disguise; His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, His glory still gleams in their eyes; Those truants from home and from Heaven They have made me more manly and mild; And I know now how Jesus could liken The kingdom of God to a child.
