Quotes About Light

The girl at her music sits in another sort of light,the fitful,overcast light of lie,by which we see ourselves and others only imprefectly, and seldom..-Girl,Interrupted

Light like this does not exist, but we wish it did. We wish the sun could make us young and beautiful, we wish our clothes could glisten and ripple against our skins, most of all, we wish that everyone we knew could be brightened simply by our looking at them, as are the maid with the letter and the soldier with the hat.

She rushed out, because the darkness in the theater was too much when combined with the darkness in her head .

The girl at her music sits in another sort of light, the fitful, overcast light of life, by which we see ourselves and others only imperfectly, and seldom.

Por el simple hecho de que existe el cuerpo - decía -, somos sombra de todas manera, somos anfibios como las ranas: una parte de nosotros vive aquí, en lo bajo, y la otra tiende hacia lo alto. Vivir es tan sólo tener conciencia de esto, saberlo, luchar para que la luz no desaparezca derrotada por la sombra. Desconfíe de quien es perfecto - me decía -, de quien tiene las soluciones ya listas en el bolsillo, desconfíe de todo, salvo de lo que le dice su corazón.

para ponerse en camino, es necesario tener nostalgia de algo. Si le quito la luz a una planta reunirá todas sus fuerzas para lograr encontrarla, las células apicales se estirarán de manera espasmódica para descubrir un resquicio y, una vez alcanzada la meta, la planta será más fuerte porque habiéndose enfrentado con la adversidad, ha logrado superarla.

Hummingbirds are less flesh than fairies. They are little more than bubbles fringed with iridescent feathers—air wrapped in light.

asking God to surround us with the white light of the Holy Spirit every morning and night is

I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow.

I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly, as the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.

The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole--- A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things. --from Insomniac, written April 1961

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating. Both of you are great light borrowers. Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected, And your first gift is making stone out of everything.

Although, I admit, I desire, Occasionally, some backtalk From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain: A certain minor light may still Lean incandescent Out of kitchen table or chair As if a celestial burning took Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary. The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.

His face, with its exaggerated shadows and planes of light, looked alien and pained, like a refugee's.

Un soare imperturbabil È™i alb str?lucea în vârful cerului. Îmi venea s? m? È™lefuiesc de la el pân? când deveneam sfînt? È™i esenÈ›ial? c? lama unui cuÈ›it.

You leave the same impression of something beautiful, but annihilating. Both of you are great light borrowers.

People and trees receded on either hand like the dark sides of a tunnel as I hurtled on to the still, bright point at the end of it, the pebble at the bottom of the well, the white sweet baby cradled in its mother's belly.

Sun, seeping through the blinds, filled my bedroom with a sulfurous light. I didn't know how long I had slept, but I felt one big twitch of exhaustion.

No podía apartar los ojos del alfiler. Una gran luz blanca parecía desprenderse de él, iluminando la habitación. Luego la luz se retiraba hacia su propio interior dejando una gota de rocío sobre un campo de oro.

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary. The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue. The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God, Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility. Fumey, spiritous mists inhabit this place Separated from my house by a row of headstones. I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

Every so often a beam of light appeared out of thin air, traversed the wall like a ghostly, exploratory finger, and slid off into nothing again.

Only the mouth-hole piped out, Importunate cricket In a quarry of silences. The people of the city heard it. They hunted the stones, taciturn and separate, The mouth-hole crying their locations. Drunk as a fetus I suck at the paps of darkness. The food tubes embrace me. Sponges kiss my lichens away. The jewelmaster drives his chisel to pry Open one stone eye. This is the after-hell: I see the light. A wind unstoppers the chamber