Quotes About Light

Nothing is worth more than laughter. It is strength to laugh and to abandon oneself, to be light. Tragedy is the most ridiculous thing.

O sacred light, walking there upon us, restlessly potent in its tremendous realm, disclosing its soul to me as well, in the rays that I drink, your luck be mine! From their deeds the sons of the sun nourish themselves; they live by victory; with own spirit they rouse themselves, and their force is their mirth.

But it is the same with man as with the tree. The more he seeks to rise into the height and light, the more vigorously do his roots struggle earthword, downword, into the dark, the deep - into evil.

Love brings to light a lover's noble and hidden qualities-his rare and exceptional traits: it is thus liable to be deceptive of his normal qualities.

You say, it's dark. And in truth, I did place a cloud before your sun. But do you not see how the edges of the cloud are already glowing and turning light.

But I need solitude--which is to say, recovery, return to myself, the breath of a free, light, playful air.

Oh great star! What would your happiness be if you did not have us to shine for?

One thing a man must have: either a naturally light disposition or a disposition lightened by art and knowledge.

Creation-that is the great redemption from suffering, and life's growing light. But that the creator may be, much suffering is needed and much change. Indeed, there must be much bitter dying in your life, you creators

I live in my own light, I drink back into myself the flames that break from me

And now we celebrate, in victory bound, The feast of feasts: Friend Zarathustra came, the guest of guests! Now laughs the world, the ancient curtain's torn, And light and darkness wedded are as one...

The night is also a sun.

For that I must descend into the depths, as you do in the evening when you go below the sea and bring light also to the underworld, you superabundant star!

But even your best love is only an enraptured simile and a painful ardour. It is a torch to light you to loftier paths.

Life that means for us to transform constantly into light and flame all that we are, or meet with.

there is a depth of happiness in which the painfullest and gloomiest do not operate as antitheses, but as conditioned, as demanded in the sense of necessary shades of colour in such an overflow of light.

Buddha wrote a code which he said would be useful to guide men in darkness, but he never claimed to be the Light of the world. Buddhism was born with a disgust for the world, when a prince's son deserted his wife and child, turning from the pleasures of existence to the problems of existence. Burnt by the fires of the world, and already weary with it, Buddha turned to ethics.

Our Blessed Lord left the world without leaving any written message. His doctrine was Himself. Ideal and History were identified in Him. The truth that all other ethical teachers proclaimed, and the light that they gave to the world, was not IN them, but OUTSIDE them. Our Divine Lord, however, identified Divine Wisdom with Himself. It was the first time in history that it was ever done, and it has never been done since.

Only those who walk in darkness ever see the stars.

Kolya threw his shoes under the bed and went to the window. There was a full moon, light green and ugly, in the sky. It seemed to be hiding behind the treetops, spying. Its light was soft and lifeless, and its rays were tremulous and mesmerizing, as they penetrated through the branches...

I cannot help recording that this illumination of my thought is for me only the extension of the Other, the only Light. I have never known such happiness. I have been playing Brahms for a long time, piano sonatas that were new to me. They will always remind me of this unforgettable time. How can I keep this feeling of being entered, of being absolutely safe—and also of being enfolded?

After two stories, I blew out my light. The night was clear. My ceiling was the sky and an eyelash of the moon. By shifting from side to side, I made my hammock swing me into sleep.

not before it sets off soft pink shades in stucco and stones, turns the mountains from sun burnt orange to shadowed blue.

maybe there is no sublime; only the shining of the amnion's tatters.