Quotes About Shadows

Stippling the white-washed walls with dancing shades and quavers. A bed-post, grown colossal, jigs about the ceiling, And shadows, strangely altered, stain the walls, revealing Eagles, and rabbits, and weird faces pulled awry, And hands which fetch and carry things incessantly.

Qué se hizo de sus recuerdos, de sus secretos? No murió sólo su cuerpo. Un cortejo de luces y sombras, de sonidos, de deseos, de color, de luchas y de recompensas terminaba con él.

We chase dreams and embrace shadows.

What's the good of these great fragile fits of enthusiasm, these jaded jumps of joys? We know nothing anymore, but the dead stars; we gaze at their faces; and we gasp with pleasure. Our mouths are dry as the lost beaches, and our eyes turn aimlessly and without hope. Now all that remain are these cafés where we meet to drink these cool drinks, these diluted spirits, and the tables are stickier than the pavements where our shadows of the day before have fallen.

Soy rubia. Rubísima. Soy tan rubia que me dicen: "Mona, no es sino que aletee ese pelo sobre mi cara y verá que me libra de esta sombra que me acosa". No era sombra sino muerte lo que le cruzaba la cara y me dio miedo perder mi brillo.

I see the state of all of us who live, nothing more than phantoms or a weightless shadow.

I'm interested in people's darker side, the ones that aren't easy and well balanced. The cracks.

See you in the darkness.

All the things that I find beautiful have a darkness about them.

There is no meaning to light if there is no darkness.

It's important to know that if you are dealing with shadows.

Todos tienen luz a su alrededor, excepto tú, Rose. Tú tienes sombras. Tú recoges las de Lissa. • capítulo 23

I must pursue the shadows to some middle ground," wrote the pilot John Muirhead, "for I am strangely bound to all that happened to them.

If only the sun-drenched celebrities are being noticed and worshiped, then our children are going to have a tough time seeing the value in the shadows, where the thinkers, probers and scientists are keeping society together.

I don't know that there are haunted houses. I know that there are dark staircases and haunted people.

The human mind naturally freezes the relentless passage of time by presenting us with static images of people, our culture, and our own self-identity. But if we were truly sensitive to evolution, we would realize these are only passing shadows in a world of ceaseless flux.

vita umbratilis

Sleepless, I stare from the dark hospital room at shadows of a flower and its leaves the nightlight fixes like a blotto on the corridor wall.

There is some delight in ale and wine And some in girls with ankles fine But my delight, yes always mine Is to dance with Jak O' the Shadows We will toss the dice however they fall And snuggle the girls be they short or tall Then follow Lord Mat whenever he calls To dance with Jak O' the Shadows.

It was a gracious evening, full of delectable lights and shadows. In the west was a sky of mackerel clouds-crimson and amber-tinted, with long strips of apple-green sky between. Beyond was the glimmering radiance of a sunset sea, and the ceaseless voice of many waters came up from the tawny shore.

Behind them in the garden the little stone house brooded among the shadows. It was lonely but not forsaken. It had not yet done with dreams and laughter and the joy of life; there were to be future summers for the little stone house; meanwhile, it could wait. And over the river in purple durance the echoes bided their time.

The faint laughter of winds was always about them and the colors of Mistawis, imperial and spiritual, under the changing clouds, were something that cannot be expressed in mere words. Shadows, too. Clustering in the pines until a wind shook them out and pursued them over Mistawis. They lay all day along the shores, threaded by ferns and wild blossoms. They stole around the headlands in the glow of the sunset, until twilight wove them all into one great web of dusk.

The wind was off shore, and only broke the sea's surface in to long, silvery ripples, and sent sheeny shadows flying out across it, from every point and headland, like transparent wings. The dusk was hanging a curtain of violet gloom over the sand-dunes and the headlands where gulls were huddling. The sky was faintly filmed over with scarfs of silken vapor. Cloud fleets rode at anchor along the horizons. An evening star was watching over the bar.

The fir is the tree of mystery and shadows, and yields never to the encroachments of crude radiance