Quotes About Light

It is the human phosphene response to full-spectrum white, to pure sunlight.

He saw only an empty white expanse, a focused glare, as if there were now no 3-D slide in the projector at all. The light, he thought, that underlies the play of phenomena which we call reality.

Spegnetevi, vane luci, più non brillate! Non v'è notte nera a sufficienza per chi, In preda alla disperazione, piange la persa fortuna. La luce altro non fa che svelare la vergogna.

?ujte, vi sjene što živite u tami, nau?ite da svjetlo nije spas. Sretni, sretni ste vi u paklu sami koji ne vidite koliko svijet prezire vas.

Horror does not need the dark, and sometimes a truly evil deed shuns the shadows.

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows: The sun-comprehending glass, And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

The sight filled the northern sky; the immensity of it was scarcely conceivable. As if from Heaven itself, great curtains of delicate light hung and trembled. Pale green and rose-pink, and as transparent as the most fragile fabric, and at the bottom edge a profound and fiery crimson like the fires of Hell, they swung and shimmered loosely with more grace than the most skillful dancer.

There is time, and there is what is beyond time. There is darkness, and there is light. There is the world and the flesh, and there is God.

In some lights they were hardly there at all, just visible as a drifting quality in the light, a rhythmic evanescence, like veils of transparency turning before a mirror.

with no more weight than a shadow.

Whatever happened behind now was simply that: behind. Lyra had left it. She felt she was leaving the world altogether, so remote and intent she was, so high they were climbing, so strange and uncanny was the light that bathed them.

It was drizzling, but even if there'd been no clouds the city sky was too tainted with light to show the stars. Pantalaimon thought they were going north, but who could tell? Endless streets of little identical brick houses, with gardens only big enough for a dustbin...

Look at that light up there: that's the sun of another world! Feel the warmth of it on your skin, now!

How could the sidewalk's impassable leaf-strewn lagoons and the grassy little yards oozing from the flood of the downspouts exude a smell that roused my delight as if I'd been born in a tropical rain forest? Tinged with the bright after-storm light, Summit Avenue was as agleam with life as a pet, my own silky, pulsating pet, washed clean by sheets of falling water and now stretched its full length to bask in the bliss.

The sun, if your fluttering eye catches it even slightly, gives you the blue and red floaters a flashbulb gives you.

Returning Late Past midnight, eluding tigers on the road, I return Home in mountain darkness. Family asleep inside. I watch the Northern Dipper drift low to the river, And Venus lofting huge into empty space, radiant. Holding a candle in the courtyard, I call for more Light. A gibbon in the gorge, startled, shrieks once. Old and tired, my hair white, I dance and sing out: Rickety cane, no sleep… Catch me if you can! Tu Fu

60:19: "The sun shall no longer be your light by day, nor for brightness shall the moon give light to you; but the LORD will be to you an everlasting light, and your God your glory.

Paul exposed this strategy in his letter to the Corinthians, saying that Satan has blinded people's minds, "lest the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine on them" (2 Corinthians 4:4).

Jesus said, "Nothing is secret that will not be revealed, nor anything hidden that will not be known and come to light" (Luke 8:17).

Photography is light-writing, the language of images. Less abstract than written or spoken language, it selects images from the existing world of appearances and arranges them in patterns. The camera-eye doesn't think, it recognizes. It shows us what we already know, but don't know that we know.

Once time is lit, it will burn whether or not you're breathing it in. Even after smoke becomes air, there is the memory of smoke. I am seeing as if by the light of a match, a glimpse of my life and having it feel right.

I kiss her and she finds the light switch and turns it off, and we're just lit in Pepsi-can colors and it's like we've finally found this other kind of conversation, this conversation in gestures and pulls and pushes and breaths and grasps and teases and glimmers and rubs and expectation.

I feel such a tenderness for these vulnerable nighttime conversations, the way words take a different shape in the air when there's no light in the room.

I want to say more, but don't know what the words are supposed to be. I feel such a tenderness for these vulnerable night-time conversations, the way words take a different shape in the air when there's no light in the room.