Quotes About Light

I came away from that time in my life with a special sense of a couple of verses in second Corinthians: "'For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, works for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.' " . . . . I try to look for the things which aren't seen.

Deep in their roots,' Roethke had said, 'all flowers keep the light.

I try to wait for Him to make the darkness light, then grow afraid and try to create the light on my own.

In the room splashed with golden autumn light, they had drawn together, as close as eggs in a nest.

The firefly only shines when on the wing, So it is with us--when we stop, we darken.

Ik houd me maar aan de regel van de oude koning, die heeft gezegd dat één ontstoken vuurpijl meer licht verspreidt dan honderd kisten vuurwerk op zolder.

Remember how it was when we kissed? Armfuls and armfuls of light thrown right at us. A rope dropping down from the sky. How can the word love and the word life even fit in the mouth?

There is no creation without destruction. There is no light without dark. That's what my nuns didn't understand. It isn't a competition. Good and evil are all part of the same thing.

Even before the sun lights the day, fireflies illuminate the path.

There is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip of light stays, like a scrap of unreadable paper left on the floor, or the one red leaf the snow releases in March.

To Hear the Falling World Only if I move my arm a certain way, it comes back. Or the way the light bends in the trees this time of year, so a scrap of sorrow, like a bird, lights on the heart. I carry this in my body, seed in an unswept corner, husk-encowled and seeming safe. But they guard me, these small pains, from growing sure of myself and perhaps forgetting.

I moved my chair into sun I sat in the sun The way hunger is moved when called fasting

THIS RIPENESS Thin roads splice field to field in the early light; under the trees, many pears lie opening to the ground. This ripeness is the landscape I want, a hand on the kitchen table passing from sunlight to shadow, warm wood to cool, and back, behind me the bright jars ranked on their shelves—harvest of rutted lanes, too small for naming, that lead, one to another, through the day.

and thought of the painting of the little boat ploughing a course through dark seas towards the line of light. It had seemed to me then to represent elemental forces over which we had no control; now I see it as a brave little vessel buoyed up by beliefs and hopes, crewed by comrades and lovers, propelled by courage in the face of apparently overwhelming odds.

All these thoughts moved through her head like moths around a fire, sometimes vanishing into the darkness, sometimes catching light and zigzagging crazily about.

Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself. —Truman Capote When

If it's darkness we're having, let it be extravagant.

I divested myself of despair and fear when I came here. Now there is no more catching one's own eye in the mirror, there are no bad books, no plastic, no insurance premiums, and of course no illness. Contrition does not exist, nor gnashing of teeth. No one howls as the first clod of earth hits the casket. The poor we no longer have with us. Our calm hearts strike only the hour, and God, as promised, proves to be mercy clothed in light.

You have to build yourself a ladder to take yourself out of sadness or grief or fear. Each rung lifting into better light." ....Imagination. She hadn't considered it a rung of a ladder, something she could draw on to change the circumstances she found herself in. She'd build a ladder with courage as a rung. Maybe kindness would lift her higher too.

The spring came suddenly; the rains stopped, the days grew noticeably longer, and the afternoon light felt powdery, as if it might blow away.

Happiness is a sunbeam, Which may pass through a thousand bosoms Without losing a particle of its original ray Nay, when it strikes on a kindred heart, Like the converged light on a mirror, It reflects itself with redoubled brightness. It is not perfected till it is shared.

Today is tomorrow, and present is past. Nothing exists and everything will last. There is no beginning, there was no end. No depth to fall, no height to ascend. There is only this moment, this flicker of light That illuminates nothing, but oh! So bright! For we are the spark that flutters in space, Consuming an eternity of a moment's grace. For today is tomorrow and present and past. Nothing exists and everything will last.

everything was fresh, green and particularly beautiful. Afternoon light, filtering between remnants of monsoon clouds, picked out gullies and spot-lit patches of forest and scrub on the convoluted ridges of the rim of the Kathmandu Valley. Or, after a rainstorm, wisps of clouds clung to the trees as if scared to let go. Behind, himals peeked out shyly between the clouds.

A smile costs less than electricity, but gives more light than it!