Quotes About Light

With all our horrors and faults, somewhere in us there is a shining.

Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream.

A kind of light spread out from her. And everything changed color. And the world opened out. And a day was good to awaken to. And there was no limits to anything. And the people of the world were good and handsome. And I was not afraid anymore.

A light in the daytime is a lonely thing.

My body was prickly with fear sweat as I lay in the gathering morning light and listened to the slender spindles of malice whining away in the distance. i thought how that shudder was under the skin of everybody in the world, not in the mind, deep under the skin. It's not the jets so much as what their purpose is.

She watched his great red happiness, and it was not light as Samuel's happiness was light. It did not rise out of his roots and come floating up. He was manufacturing happiness as cleverly as he knew how, molding it and shaping it.

Lee carried a tin lantern to light the way, for it was one of those clear early winter nights when the sky riots with stars and the earth seems doubly dark because of them.

Monterey is a place, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream.

Well, she thought, here it is just as I knew it would be. Here was her death. Her mind flashed to see if she had forgotten anything—will made, letters burned, new underwear, plenty of food in the house for dinner. She wondered whether she had turned out the light in the back room. It was all in a second. Then she thought there might be an outside chance of survival.

The climate changed quickly to cold and the trees burst into color, the reds and yellows you can't believe. It isn't only color but a glowing, as though the leaves gobbled the light of the autumn sun and then released it slowly. There's a quality of fire in these colors. I got high in the mountains before dusk.

In a bitter night, a mustard night that was last night, a good thought came and the dark was sweetened when the day sat down. And this thought went from evening star to the late dipper on the edge of the first light -- that our betters spoke of.

Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream. Cannery Row is the gathered and scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honky tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and little crowded groceries, and laboratories and flophouses.

It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.

the room leaped to darkness.

It captured the light and refined it and gave it back in silver incandescence

The turntable drops down and the record swings into its place in the pile. The purple light goes off. The nickel, which has caused all this mechanism to work, has caused Crosby to sing and an orchestra to play—this nickel drops from between the contact points into the box where the profits go. This nickel, unlike most money, has actually done a job of work, has been physically responsible for a reaction.

The earth contributed a light to the evening. The front of the gray, paintless house, facing the west, was luminous as the moon is. The gray dusty truck, in the yard before the door, stood out magically in this light, in the overdrawn perspective of a stereopticon. The

It isn't only color but a glowing, as though the leaves gobbled the light of the autumn sun and then released it slowly.

Since the units were self-supporting, there was no need for thick walls to support the load of the building. As a result, large expanses of windows punctuated by delicate cast-iron columns created a rhythmic balance outside and well-lit spaces inside.

The core of the building would be used to house the requisite utilities; the rentable office space, assured of light, would surround the core.

Sunshine, the old clown, rims the room.

as if in the pre-dawn, before light begins to lift edges into being.

June The sun is rich And gladly pays In golden hours, Silver days, And long green weeks That never end. School's out. The time Is ours to spend. There's Little League, Hopscotch, the creek, And, after supper, Hide-and-seek. The live-long light Is like a dream, and freckles come Like flies to cream.

Kjærleiken er den ande som gjer at vi finst til Kjærleiken er den vande som vil og ikkje vil Kjærleiken er ei lykke og han er sorga di, han går der bak eit stykke og så går han forbi Kjærleiken er som lyset, det kjem og det forsvinn Kjærleiken er det gyset som seier tap og vinn