Quotes About Sunset

Would you say, "Billy, be home by the time the Earth has rotated enough so as to occult the Sun below the local horizon"? Billy would be long gone before you're finished.

After the sunset on the prairie, there are only the stars

He was nothing but a shadow on the horizon when that old basset hound of his escaped from the sheriff's office and went loping down the street. When she reached the edge of town, she sank down on her grizzled haunches, threw back her head, and let out a howl that broke nearly every heart that heard it. Later, there would be many who would swear he'd reined in his mare and stood silhouetted against the sunset for a timeless moment.

You can't stop change any more than you can stop the suns from setting.

The sun set, which is everyday magic...

He glanced at the sun which, old professional that it was, chose that moment to drop below the horizon.

It was that halcyon hour when the Angelus falls like a benediction upon the waning day. Far off the notes were sounding gently, and nature, now that she listened, seemed to have paused also. A scarlet–breasted robin was hopping in short spaces upon the grass before her. A humming bee hummed, a cow–bell tinkled, while some suspicious cracklings told of a secretly reconnoitering squirrel.

Desire makes life happen. Makes it matter. Makes everything worth it. Desire is life. Hunger to see the next sunrise or sunset, to touch the one you love, to try again. 'Hell would be waking up and wanting nothing,' he agrees.

The sun's nearly level with the horizon, right behind his head, making this weird halo effect around his face—as if! I'm surprised he doesn't smell like brimstone. He probably has a red pitchfork and hides horns under his hair.

Oxygen is trivial. Desire makes life happen. Makes it matter. Makes everything worth it. Desire is life. Hunger to see the next sunrise or sunset, to touch the one you love, to try again.

No. Your face is lovely, lass. The sunset looks good on you.

Her hair was the color of an angry sunset, and it fell to her waist in ripples of copper and red. Her steps-deliberate, prideful, measured-took her eastward along Evans Avenue through clouds of dust raised by the summertime street repair. People stared at the small, wirestrung harp she carried tucked under her arm. She did not appear to notice.

Let us live and love, my Lesbia, and value at a penny all the talk of crabbed old men. Suns may set and rise again: for us, when our brief light has set, there's the sleep of perpetual night. Give me a thousand kisses.

It was more or less late afternoon and I came over a hilltop and smack in front of me was the sunset.

No matter how long the sun may linger on his long and weary journey, at length evening comes with its sacred song.

When we left, the sun was taking its evening dip, slipping down into the ocean inch by inch like a fat woman afraid of the water.

Never drink before sunset; Never drink more than 3 days in a row.

Turn up the radio. Turn up the tape machine. Look into the sunset up ahead. Roll the windows down for a better taste of the cool desert wind. Ah yes. This is what it's all about. Total control now. Tooling along the main drag on a Saturday night in Las Vegas, two good old boys in a fireapple-red convertible … stoned, ripped, twisted … Good People.

The sun was going down behind the scrub hills northwest of the city. A good Kristofferson tune was croaking out of the radio. We cruised back to town through the warm dusk, relaxed on the red leather seats of our electric white Coupe de Ville.

The sunset was really over, but a thunderously deep stain of red still lay across the furthest limit of the western sky. I looked out to it for a moment. Skye was somewhere out there, more felt than seen.

In the evening darkness doesn't really fall, it rises. When

Wasted time in beautiful places, lingering joyfully just inside the gates of paradise with the world's colours aflame, always regretting the setting sun and the call home, the Edenic expulsion into the next day and its usual concerns.

There was a crime. But there were also the lovers. Lovers and their happy ends have been on my mind all night long. As into the sunset we sail. An unhappy inversion. It occurs to me that I have not travelled so far after all, since I wrote my little play. Or rather, I've made a huge digression and doubled back to my starting place. It is only in my last version that my lovers end well, standing side by side on a South London pavement as I walk away.

To go out with the setting sun on an empty beach is to truly embrace your solitude.