Quotes
Quotes about Sun
God dropped a spark down into everyone, And if we find and fan it to a blaze, It'll spring up and glow, like--like the sun, And light the wandering out of stony ways.
When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world. â¢John Muir Absence of occupation is not rest; A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed. â¢William Cowper No rest is worth anything except the rest that is earned. â¢Jean Paul Sundays, quiet islands on the tossing seas of life. â¢S. W. Duffield Rest is the sweet sauce of labor. â¢Plutarch I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy! â¢Louise A. Bogan A friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out. â¢Walter Winchell One dog barks at something, the rest bark at him. â¢Chinese Proverb How beautiful is it to do nothing, and then rest afterward. â¢Proverb The voice of the intellect is a soft one, but it does not rest till it has gained a hearing.
Who remembers when we used to rest on Sunday instead of Monday?
Light Winged Smoke Lightwinged Smoke, Icarian bird, Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight, Lark without song, and the messenger of dawn, Circling above the hamlets as thy nest; Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts; By night star-veiling, and by day Darkening the light and blotting out the sun; Go thou my incense upward from this hearth, And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame. -Henry David Thoreau-.
The air grows cool and darkles, The Rhine flows calmly on; The mountain summit sparkles In the light of the setting sun.
Oh, sweet thy current by town and by tower, The green sunny vale and the dark linden bower; Thy waves as they dimple smile back on the plain, And Rhine, ancient river, thou'rt German again!
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree; Where Alph, the sacred river ran, Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.
And see the rivers how they run Through woods and meads, in shade and sun, Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,-- Wave succeeding wave, they go A various journey to the deep, Like human life to endless sleep!
On the Big Blackfoot River above the mouth of Belmont Creek the banks are fringed by large Ponderosa pines. In the slanting sun of late afternoon the shadows of great branches reached across the river, and the trees took the river in their arms.
Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless; but how gay With his red stalks upon this sunny day!
I have you. A lover and a friend. You are everything I need. You are the sun, the air I breathe. Without you, life wouldn't be the same. Please don't ever go away. And if you go, then don't forget to take me with you.
The gates of monarchs Are arched so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun.
At length her grace rose and with modest paces Came to the altar, where she kneeled, and saint-like Cast her fair eyes to heaven and prayed devoutly; Then rose again and bowed her to the people; When by the Archbishop of Canterbury She had all the royal makings of a queen, As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems Laid nobly on her; which performed, the choir With all the choicest music of the kingdom Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted And with the same full state packed back again To York Place, where the feast is held.
Straightway throughout the Libyan cities flies rumor;--the report of evil things than which nothing is swifter; it flourishes by its very activity and gains new strength by its movements; small at first through fear, it soon raises itself aloft and sweeps onward along the earth. Yet its head reaches the clouds. . . . A huge and horrid monster covered with many feathers: and for every plume a sharp eye, for every pinion a biting tongue. Everywhere its voices sound, to everything its ears are open. [Lat., Extemplo Libyae magnas it Fama per urbes: Fama malum quo non velocius ullum; Mobilitate viget, viresque acquirit eundo; Parva metu primo; mox sese attollit in auras, Ingrediturque solo, et caput inter nubilia condit. . . . . Monstrum, horrendum ingens; cui quot sunt corpore plumae Tot vigiles oculi subter, mirabile dictu, Tot linquae, totidem ora sonant, tot subrigit aures.]
It (rumour) has a hundred tongues, a hundred mouths, a voice of iron. [Lat., Linguae centum sunt, oraque centum Ferrea vox.]
On Sundays, at the matin-chime, The Alpine peasants, two and three, Climb up here to pray; Burghers and dames, at summer's prime, Ride out to church from Chamberry, Dight with mantles gay, But else it is a lonely time Round the Church of Brou.
Gently on tiptoe Sunday creeps, Cheerfully from the stars he peeps, Mortals are all asleep below, None in the village hears him go; E'en chanticleer keeps very still, For Sunday whispered, 'twas his will.
Sundaies observe: think when the bells do chime, 'Tis angel's musick; therefore come not late.
The Sundaies of man's life, Thredded together on time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal, glorious King. On Sunday heaven's gates stand ope; Blessings are plentiful and rife. More plentiful than hope.
Now, really, this appears the common case Of putting too much Sabbath into Sunday-- But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?
E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me.
Those who seek for much are left in want of much. Happy is he to whom God has given, with sparing hand, as much as is enough. [Lat., Multa petentibus Desunt multa. Bene est, cui Deus obtulit Parca, quod satis est manu.]
In Vietnam the CIA dressed as Viet Cong and in their uniform performed atrocities on Catholics and Buddhists. * (the same thing is being done to the Shiites and Sunnis by mosque bombers.. with the US military or Sharon operatives tagged as Sunnis for Shiites and Shiites for Sunnis).
Someday man will harness the rise and fall of the tides, imprison the power of the sun, and release atomic power.
A glory gilds the sacred page, Majestic like the sun, It gives a light to every age, It gives, but borrows none.
