Quotes About Illumination

Live in rooms full of light.

Clouds, too, can give light if only the sun shines on them.

Up high, wind purled the canopy roof. Where we were, the air didn't move, as still as the inside of a tomb. I turned on my headlamp and shone it up, illuminating detritus of sees and spores slowly falling. "We're in a snow globe," JT said.

Candle is an X-ray, it's a matter of wavelength.

Deep blackness waits outside; a veiled inferno it attempts to hide. We see no more than dark clouds growing, but set inside, a fire is glowing.

Unstrained, I sit and gaze, glare, survey, stare through barred windows encased in embroidered steel. Pearly frosted dust obstructs the channels of light, leaving only small pillars of fire, arranged in disordered fragments. The antiquated sallow walls are stained with crimson braids that wreathe and scuttle about the rimes and rifts.

You have to drag them into the light.

The only obligation you have as a film-maker is to tell your version of the truth and to use your film to illuminate reality. Whatever that means.

So, in a sense, looking under the lamppost for dark matter is appropriate.

What does a lighthouse do? I ask myself. It never moves. It cannot hike up its rocky skirt and dash into the ocean to rescue the foundering ship. It cannot calm the waters or clear the shoals. It can only cast light into the darkness. It can only point the way. Yet, through one lighthouse, you guide many ships. Show this old lighthouse the way.

The journey itself was the architect of the wood. The interior would never be fully dark because the struggle had cracked it, providing an avenue for the light.

images. What does a lighthouse do? I ask myself. It never moves. It cannot hike up its rocky skirt and dash into the ocean to rescue the foundering ship. It cannot calm the waters or clear the shoals. It can only cast light into the darkness. It can only point the way. Yet, through one lighthouse, you guide many ships. Show this old lighthouse the way.

People who read poetry have heard about the burning bush, but when you write poetry, you sit inside the burning bush.

Knowledge is grateful to the understanding, as light to the eyes.

History is not a burden on the memory but an illumination of the soul.

Dawn dazzles on the dying and the dead.

Fireflies love the dark too. There's beauty in those places.

Those who deal in magic learn to see the world in a slightly differnt light than everybody else.you gain a perspective you had considered before. A way of thinking that would never have occurred to you with out exposure to the things a wizard sees and hears.When you look in to some ones eyes you see them in that other light and for just a second they see you in the same way.

The door burst open. Murphy came through it, her eyes living flames of azure blue, her hair a golden coronet around her. She held a blazing sword in her hand and she shone so bright and beautiful and terrifying in her anger that it was hard to see. The Sight, I realized, dimly. I was seeing her for who she was.

All schools have their skeletons. St Oswald's is no exception. Most of the time, we try our best to keep them in the closet. But this time, the only recourse we have is to throw open all the closets, light as many bulbs as we can and catch the vermin as it comes out.

There are just as many stories to be told in the dark spots s there are in the bright ones.

The self-description of the soul is usually in terms of light and brightness.

Someday perhaps the inner light will shine forth from us, and then we'll need no other light.

The best way I've found of understanding this is to think not so much of something "being" a color but of it "doing" a color.