Quotes About Light

Cerita seperti Cahaya

Why would you save me? Because you, mouse, can tell Gregory a story. Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning. Tell Gregory a story. Make some light.' - A Tale of Despereaux, Kate Dicamillo - P. 81

The rat called Chiaroscuro did not look away. He let the light from the upstairs world enter him and fill him. He gasped aloud with the wonder of it.

Stories are light, light is precious in a world so dark.

Pea was aware suddenly of how fragile her heart was, how much darkness was inside it, fighting, always, with the light.

The world that morning was coated in a layer of hoarfrost, and the brother was late to the task of feeding Answelica because he had stood for too long admiring the light of the rising sun shining on the blades of grass and the branches of the trees. The whole world seemed lit from within.

His rat soul longed inexplicably for it; he began to think that light was the only thing that gave life meaning, and he despaired that there was so little of it to be had.

Light is precious in a world so dark.

Everything was astonishing. The setting sun was illuminating each blade of grass. It was reflecting off the girl's glasses, making a halo of light around the girl's round head, setting the whole world on fire.

Alfred T. Slipper was a janitor. Most of the time (often, in fact) they treated him with disdain. They had no idea of the astonishing acts of heroism, the blinding light, contained within his outward humdrum disguise. Only Alfred's parakeet, Dolores, knew who he was and what he could do.

From the glass-topped table in the dining room, I could see over a field and into the woods. It was late afternoon, and the light was fading. Sometimes, when the light starts to fade, I get a terrible feeling of loneliness, like maybe I am the only person in the world.

The world was so dark! I don't know that I had ever before encountered such darkness.

I could see dust motes dancing around joyfully in the air. What do dust motes have to be so happy about?

Because you, mouse, can tell Gregory a story. Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning. Tell Gregory a story. Make some light.

the smallest glimmer, the tiniest shimmer.

I stood in a clearing among a stand of beech trees, leaves as red as rubies, branches black as jet. It was sunset, and shafts of richly colored sunlight struck through the delicate pillars of the tree trunks, as if through the lancet windows of a cathedral.

The thinnest shaft of light entered the empty chambers of my heart, just for a moment. Then it disappeared, extinguished by the weight of all that had gone before.

said lightly, once the servant had withdrawn. 'I should congratulate

There was no moon, no stars, but even the darkest of nights steals light from somewhere.

certain smells were the custodians of memory. And once they were unleashed, their effect was instantaneous, like switching on a light – flooding the senses far too quickly and completely. They had the power to transport and overwhelm. For that reason, one needed to be wary of them.

the sun burnt my little day old eyes

The moment she entered she felt wrapped in a fragile golden light like a radiant mist that seemed to settle around her. What was it about the mews? she often wondered. It seemed to transform the simplest things, like stone and wood and the very air one breathed, into something different. When she crossed the threshold, she felt as if she had entered another world.

We are good not in virtue of what we are but in virtue of what we are not, like darkness lit up by a light that enters into it from without. We are not light in ourselves but in virtue of having within us what is light in itself.

You should have tried the eggplant parmesan she tried to hoist on me at the church bake sale. No wonder her children turned to Satan. He probably showed up as an angel of light and promised them a decent meal.