Quotes About Sunset

Later that day, shortly before the sun sank in the wintry sky, despite the best efforts of the medics, Arra Sails closed her eyes, made peace with the gods of the vampires, breathed her last...and died.

At Loch Mor we walked down a spongy hill to a valley. The sun was dropping then dropped, leaving a sky of frilly reds. The moon appeared too soon. The valley sloped around a teardrop-shaped lake, pink with the bizarre fuchsia bursts of the late-coming sunset. Violet heather bruised the green weedy ground as we jumped down. This was a place conceived in a burst of emotion by a melancholy boy.

This (the sunset) more resembled an explosion. It took place above and behind him, and he turned some of the time to regard it: it (the sunset) was swollen and perfectly round, and large, radiating knives of light when he squinted. It hung and trembled slightly like a viscous drop about to fall. It hung just above the peaks of the Tortolita foothills behind him (Marathe), and slowly was sinking.

It was @ 1900h., not yet true twilight, but the only thing left of the sunset was a snout just over Newton, and the places under long shadows were cold, and a certain kind of melancholy sadness was insinuating itself into the grounds' light.

My husband laughed without smiling. He looked at the last of the sun-colored water as we approached the Brooklyn Bridge's system of angled shadows. If no one is really the way we see them, that would include me, I said. And you. Rudy admired the sunset. He said it looked explosive, hanging, all round, just over the water. Reflected and doubled in that bit of river. But he was looking only at the water. I saw him.

My husband laughed without smiling. He looked at the last of the sun-colored water as we approached the Brooklyn Bridge's system of angled shadow. Because if no one is really the way we see them, I said, that would include me. And you. Rudy admired the sunset out loud. He said it looked explosive, hanging, all round, just slightly over the water. Reflected and doubled in that bit of river. But he'd been looking only at the water. I'd watched him.

Tush, man! praise the day when the sun has set.

there's never been a day that lasts forever, just as the sun sets, it will rise at dawn for ever after…'.

Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. -Sonnet 73

O, but they say, the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like deep harmony: where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain: for they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. he, that no more must say, is listened more than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze; more are men's ends marked, than their lives before: the setting sun, and music at the close, as the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; writ in rememberance more than things long past

That will be ere the set of sun.

The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past.

The Sun will not rise or set without my notice and thanks.

In alto nel cielo c'era uno sbuffo di nuvole rosa e zafferano.

Ross pensò: se solo potessimo fermare la vita per un po', la fermerei qui. Non al mio ritorno a casa, non al momento di lasciare Trenwith, ma qui, qui, mentre ci avviciniamo alla sommità della collina, oltre Sawle, il crepuscolo che accarezza i confini della terra e Demelza che cammina canticchiando al mio fianco.

All her life Demelza's principle, though she did not know it as such, had been never to let the sun go down on her wrath.

All her life Demelza's principle, though she did not know it as such, had been never to let the sun go down on her wrath. But she could very well have been buried with this wrath, because it came from a wound that knew no cure.

It was a placid explosion of orange and red, a great chromatic symphony, a colour canvas of supernatural proportions, truly a splendid Pacific sunset, quite wasted on me.

The sun was beginning to pull the curtains on the day.

Before setting out for their sunset runs, Jenn and Billy would snap a tape of Allen Ginsberg reading "Howl" into their Walkman. When running stopped being as fun as surfing, they had agreed, they'd quit. So to get that same surging glide, that same feeling of being lifted up and swept along, they ran to the rhythm of Beat poetry.

I could never again see the evening sun fading into oblivion without feeling lonely.

The sun, having set not too long ago, left a purplish stain on the sky.

The sun began to sink. I inspected my rifle and retied my boots.