Quotes
Quotes about Sun
The sweet calm sunshine of October, now Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mould The purple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough Drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death.
For the world was built in order Around the atoms march in tune; Rhyme the pipe, and Time the warder, The sun obeys them, and the moon.
All furnished, all in arms; All plum'd like estridges that with the wind Bated like eagles having lately bathed; Glittering in golden coats like images; As full of spirit as the month of May And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
Pansies? You praise the ones that grow today Here in the garden; had you seen the place When Sutherland was living! Here they grew, From blue to deeper blue, in midst of each A golden dazzle like a glimmering star, Each broader, bigger than a silver crown; While here the weaver sat, his labor done, Watching his azure pets and rearing them, Until they seem'd to know his step and touch, And stir beneath his smile like living things: The very sunshine loved them, and would lie Here happy, coming early, lingering late, Because they were so fair.
They are all in the lily-bed, cuddled close together-- Purple, Yellow-cap, and little Baby-blue; How they ever got there you must ask the April weather, The morning and the evening winds, the sunshine and the dew.
I send thee pansies while the year is young, Yellow as sunshine, purple as the night; Flowers of remembrance, ever fondly sung By all the chiefest of the Sons of Light; And if in recollection lives regret For wasted days and dreams that were not true, I tell thee that the "pansy freak'd with jet" Is still the heart's ease that the poets knew Take all the sweetness of a gift unsought, And for the pansies send me back a thought.
The beauteous pansies rise In purple, gold, and blue, With tints of rainbow hue Mocking the sunset skies.
The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are open paradise.
Gone--flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.
The sun with light umber touches vined cucumber The more he tickles the more there are pickles.
if this night is all we have, we'll let sunrise wait for us.
We Are The Living Graves Of Murdered Beasts We are the living graves of murdered beasts Slaughtered to satisfy our appetites We never pause to wonder at our feasts If animals, like men, can possibly have rights We pray on Sundays that we may have light To guide our footsteps on the path we tread We're sick of war We do not want to fight The thought of it now fills our hearts with dread And yet we gorge ourselves upon the dead Like carrion crows we live and feed on meat Regardless of the suffering and pain We cause by doing so. If thus we treat Defenseless animals for sport or gain How can we hope in this world to attain the PEACE we say we are so anxious for We pray for it o'er hecatombs of slain To God, while outraging the moral law Thus cruelty begets its offspring: war.
No good work whatever can be perfect, and the demand for perfection is always a sign of a misunderstanding of the ends of art.
To label me an intellectual is a misunderstanding of what that is.
Sundays, quiet islands on the tossing seas of life.
What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.
Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun. Oh! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home had she none.
CONSIDERING THE VOID When I behold the charm of evening skies, their lulling endurance; the patterns of stars with names of bears and dogs, a swan, a virgin; other planets that the Voyager showed were like and so unlike our own, with all their diverse moons, bright discs, weird rings, and cratered faces; comets with their streaming tails bent by pressure from our sun; the skyscape of our Milky Way holding in its shimmering disc an infinity of suns (or say a thousand billion); knowing there are holes of darkness gulping mass and even light, knowing that this galaxy of ours is one of multitudes in what we call the heavens, it troubles me. It troubles me. -President Jimmy Carter- (he has written a volume of poetry as well as a novel, The Hornet's Nest, about the Revolutionary War).
Let the sun shine in.
Darkness yields to starlight, to the light of the rising sun, and to the light of the soul.
Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there: Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came, And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame. With burnt mouth red like a lion's it drank The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank, And dipped its cup in the purpurate shine When the eastern conduits ran with wine.
It may be said of them [the Hollanders], as of the Spaniards, that the sun never sets upon their Dominions.
The proud daughter of that monarch to whom when it grows [elsewhere] the sun never sets. [Lat., Altera figlia Di quel monarea a cui Ne anco, quando annotta, il Sol tramonta.]
I despise mankind in all its strata; I foresee that our descendants will be still far unhappier than we are. Would I not be a criminal if, notwithstanding this view, I should provide for progeny, i.e. for unfortunates? [Ger., Ich verachte die Menschheit in allen ihren Schichten; ich sehe es voraus, dass unsere Nachkommen noch weit unglucklicher sein werden, als wir. Sollte ich nicht ein Sunder sein, wenn ich trotz dieser Ansicht fur Nachkommen, d.h. fur Ungluckliche sorgte?
