Quotes About Sun

Overhead the constellations dip and wheel. My divinity shines in me like the last rays of the sun before they drown in the sea. I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands. All my life, I have been moving forward, and now I am here. I have a mortal's voice, let me have the rest. I lift the brimming bowl to my lips and drink.

My divinity shines in me like the last days of the sun before they drown in the sea. I thought that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead, and can hold nothing in their hands.

That's the stone," I said, "like I told you. It can't get warm without sun. Haven't you ever touched a statue?

Overhead the constellations dip and wheel. My divinity shines in me like the last rays of the sun before they drown in the sea. I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands.

He smiled his easy smile, his honest one He smiled and his face was like the sun

I had been dreaming myself a fish, silvered by sun as it leapt from the sea. The waves dissolved, became amphorae and grain sacks again.

In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk, their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun

I had been dreaming myself a fish, silvered by sun as it leaped from the sea.

Tell this to ladies: how a hero man Assail a thick and scandalous giant Who casts true shadow in the sun, And die, but play no truant. This is more horrible: that the darling egg Of the chosen people hatch a creature Of noblest mind and powerful leg Who cannot fathom nor perform his nature.

The sun was visible from Florida, but it hadn't gotten to me.

A sulphur sun pierced the gloom, and the rain stopped and I drove to the hospital.

In a little while she got up and went over and closed the door and came back, dropped her halter top and her sun shorts to the floor beside the bed, stood there for not more than two seconds and then stretched out beside me. She bent over the side of the bed and got her cigarettes out of the pocket of the sun shorts, lit two and gave me one and lay back in the circle of my arm, huffed out a big cloud of smoke

Le soleil, ruisselant dans le bureau sous les stores baissés, taille dans la fumée des cigares une coupe oblique semblable à de la soie mouillée.

The sun moved, came on me, made me erotic. Sometimes to return is a vulgarity. The profoundest distances are never geographical.

Time is the flesh and blood of death; death is not a skull, a skeleton, but a clock face, a sun hurtling through a sea of thin gas. A part of you has died since you began to read this sentence.

He was a wanderer by nature, and even if England and the nearer East were closed to him, the world was wide, the sun shone in many places, the stars wheeled over one, books could be read, women had beauty, flowers scent, tobacco its flavour, music its moving power, coffee its fragrance, horses and dogs and birds were the same seductive creatures

Smoke! Did all human passion burn away and drift in a blue film over the fields, obscure for a moment the sight of the sun and the shapes of the crops and the trees, then fade into air and leave the clear hard day; and no difference anywhere? Not quite! For smoke was burnt tissue, and where fire had raged there was alteration.

The sky had cleared, and now the sun was overhead, already baking the wet ground so that you could see the humidity drifting lazily above the cotton stalks.

had been the marigold turning to face the sun.

Then God said, "Let there be lights in the firmament of the heavens to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs and seasons." The Hebrew word for "sign" is owth, which also translates as "signals." Therefore, based on the Bible, God uses the sun, moon, and stars as signals to mankind.

The sun touches Maine first among every state in the US. But Maine likes to confuse people and generally feels conflicted on the subject of light and warmth, so its shattered coastline of necks and points and isles hides from the sun, facing any direction but east.

Thirty today, I saw The trees flare briefly like The candles upon a cake As the sun went down the sky, A momentary flash, Yet there was time to wish Before the light could die, If I had known what to wish, As once I must have known, Bending above the clean, Candlelit tablecloth To blow them out with a breath.

A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no Identity--he is continually in for--and filling some other Body--The Sun, the Moon, the Sea and Men and Women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute--the poet has none; no identity--he is certainly the most unpoetical of all God's Creatures. If then he has no self, and if I am a Poet, where is the Wonder that I should say I would write no more?

A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no Identity -- he is continually in for -- and filling some other Body -- The Sun, the Moon, the Sea, and Men and Women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute -- the poet has none; no identity -- he is certainly the most unpoetical of all God's creatures.