Quotes About Sun

Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the mid-day sun.

Rise up nimbly and go on your strange journey to the ocean of meanings.... Leave and don't look away from the sun as you go, in whose light you're sometimes crescent, sometimes full.

You are a fountain of the sun's light. I am a willow shadow on the ground. You make my raggedness silky.

Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

The sun snagged on his crooked skin.

Wretched game, cricket, keeping romantic youths out in the sun when they should be indoors, applying balm to the foreheads of feverish young maidens.

Give me a companion of my way, be it only to mention how the shadows lengthen as the sun declines,' wrote Hazlitt. Pratap

I love the BBC, it's a gorgeous organisation and it's just 'cos it's got vaguely socialist state-run tendencies that people like bloody old Rupert Murdoch coat it off in the Sun, and it's gotta stop!

Caught on the thorns of our joys as we run. Emily, Emily, child of the sun.

There is a lot of warmth in an old cognac, a lot of sun. It will go to one's head calmly, without hurry.

Your days are numbered. Use them to throw open the windows of your soul to the sun. If you do not, the sun will soon set, and you with it.

Remember how long you have procrastinated, and how consistently you have failed to put to good use you suspended sentence from the gods. It is about time you realized the nature of the universe (of which you are part) and of the pwoer that rules it (to which your art owes its existence). Your days are numbered. Use them to throw open the windows of your soul to the sun. If you do not, the sun will soon set, and you with it. (II.4)

It was a Monday and they walked on a tightrope to the sun.

What breaks in daybreak? Is it the night? Is it the sun, cracked in two by the horizon like an egg, spilling out light?

Eating Fire Eating fire is your ambition: to swallow the flame down take it into your mouth and shoot it forth, a shout or an incandescent tongue, a word exploding from you in gold, crimson, unrolling in a brilliant scroll To be lit up from within vein by vein To be the sun

He throws out radiance, it must be reflected sun. Why isn't everyone staring?

Here and there are worms, evidence of the fertility of the soil, caught by the sun, half dead; flexible and pink, like lips.

and each of his voices left his body in a different colored soul and floated up towards the sun still singing.

Betty's now have a patio garden, where the tourists can sit in the sun and fry to a crisp; it's in the back, that little square of cracked cement where they used to keep the garbage cans. They offer tortellini and cappuccino, boldly proclaimed in the window as if everyone in town just naturally knows what they are. Well, they do by now; they've had a try, if only to acquire sneering rights.

They were wrong about the sun. It does not go down into the underworld at night. The sun leaves merely and the underworld emerges. It can happen at any moment. It can happen in the morning, you in the kitchen going through your mild routines. Plate, cup, knife. All at once there's no blue, no green, no warning.

As long as the sun rose each day, as long as they could behold it, there life was secure.

The time has come, everybody lie down so you won't get hurt when the sun bursts.

These are the soul's changes. I don't believe in ageing. I believe in forever altering one's aspect to the sun. Hence my optimism.

I walk around with a hat, sunglasses, and sunscreen all the time.