Quotes About Sunset

A beleza nostálgica do sol que se põe é uma dádiva dos olhos de quem a vê como quem vê pela última vez. Os olhos dos poetas são sempre olhos que se despedem.

I seem to remember sitting on a golden bench, and she started chattering about the sunset, or something. She seemed quite happy so I let her get on with it. Then she got hold of my hand and asked me what I was thinking about. So I said, "The treatment of anal fistulae".

Every one of a hundred thousand cities around the world had its own special sunset and it was worth going there, just once, if only to see the sun go down.

Can you see the sunset real good on the West side? You can see it on the East side too.

By just watching the sunset I become blissful, is that true bliss? When I am saying my prayers if I become blissful, is that true bliss? When I am meditating and have become blissful, is that true bliss?" How you become blissful, it doesn't matter. Somehow you become blissful. That is all that matters.

It's a lifelong failing: she has never been prepared. But how can you have a sense of wonder if you're prepared for everything? Prepared for the sunset. Prepared for the moonrise. Prepared for the ice storm. What a flat existence that would be.

Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon...

It's a lifelong failing: she has never been prepared. But how can you have a sense of wonder if you're prepared for everything? Prepared for the sunset. Prepared for the moonrise. Prepared for the ice storm. What a flat existence that would be.

Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon, like a black sun behind cloud cover. Like smoke from an unseen fire, a line of fire just below the horizon, brushfire or a burning city. Maybe night falls because it's heavy, a thick curtain pulled up over the eyes.

Mary watched the sunset from her carriage window, realizing that such beauty could never last. Life was a golden glory that faded in the wink of an eye. Life was a village fair that only lasted for a single day. As the carriage rattled along, rocking her like a babe in arms, Mary felt very old and wise. She found that she didn't mind being taken back to the castle, to a caring captivity that was filled with comforts and kindness. And she also found that she couldn't keep her eyes open.

I'm thankful for the sea breeze that feels so good right now, and the scent of jasmine when the sun starts going down.

I think sunrises are rarer for me, but sunset is my favourite time of day.

Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered for they are gone forever.

Sun, I come to see you for the last time.

the tired sunsets and the tired people - it takes a lifetime to die and no time at all.

We must wait until the evening to see how splendid the day had been.

This land, although not my native land, Will be remembered forever. And the sea's lightly iced, Unsalty water. The sand on the bottom is whiter than chalk, The air is heady, like wine, And the rosy body of the pines Is naked in the sunset hour. And the sunset itself on such waves of ether That I just can't comprehend Whether it is the end of the day, the end of the world, Or the mystery of mysteries in me again.

A land not mine, still forever memorable, the waters of its ocean chill and fresh. Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk, and the air drunk, like wine, late sun lays bare the rosy limbs of the pinetrees. Sunset in the ethereal waves: I cannot tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is inside me again.

And dusk fell because it suited his skin.

Does sunset sometimes look like the sun is coming up? Do you know what a faithful love is like? You're crying; you say you've burned yourself. But can you think of anyone who's not hazy with smoke? —Rumi

Everything between sunset and darkness. There is so much room for imagination. You see things in a different way from the glare of daylight. There's a richer beauty, and an awareness of how fleeting it all is, how ephemeral.

It had been the golden time of evening when the sun is gone and everything gives back the light it has absorbed all day long.

The horizon, bloody with the sunset, dulls with smoke and churned-up dirt.

Bundled in my shawl and uniform, I might have been partaking in any one of Mrs. Westcliffe's permitted after-supper al fresco activities, like: Strolling to the edge of the rose garden to admire the sunset. Strolling to the edge of the orchard to admire the sunset. Strolling to the edge of the bridge to admire the sunset. At England's foremost educational opportunity for young women, strolling to the brink of things was allowed. Leaving the green-plunging beyond brinks-was not.