Quotes About Sunlight

She shivered in the sunlight as if it were the ray of a malignant star.

It was cauld. For about a minute the grey sky ferociously split and sunlight burst through, pouring ower the city, reflectin off the glitterin granite. The blood pounded in ma heid, makin me want tae be somewhere else. Then it was away and that heavy cloak ay grey was back oan us.

There's some kids playing out in the back, the strip of grass luminated an electric green by the brilliant sunlight. The sky is a delicious clear blue. Life is beautiful. I'm going to enjoy it, and I'm going to have a long life.

The ideal job letter starts with a brilliant light. Then we realize that this brilliant light is actually sunlight, shafts of it, pouring through trees onto a thick bed of pine needles. Soft dusty resin floats in the sun shafts, invitingly. The smell of pine and sap rises from the forest floor. A twig snaps underfoot.

I went to business school but left after four months because I just didn't want to be a puppet of society, stuck in an office, craving some sunlight.

With regard to precipitous heights, if you are beforehand with your adversary, you should occupy the raised and sunny spots, and there wait for him to come up.

I'm not living in the shadows anymore. I want to walk in the sun. But I can't do that without you.

Just looking at you shines sunlight on every moment I live. Before I knew you, I wasn't even alive. I thought I knew what I wanted, but I didn't have any idea. You barged into my life and changed it forever. I love you, I admire you, I lust after you, I adore you...

The cylinder begins to rise. For maybe fifteen seconds, I'm in darkness and then I can feel the metal plate pushing me out of the cylinder, into the open air. For a moment, my eyes are dazzled by the bright sunlight and I'm conscious only of a strong wind with the hopeful smell of pine trees. Then I hear the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith, as his voice booms all around me. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!

My Love wakes in a puddle of sunlight.Her hands asleep beside her.Her hair draped on the lawnlike a mantle of cloth.I give her my troth, for our love is wholeI sing her beauty in my soul

Depression is like waking up and opening the blinds because your plants need sunlight, but it's 8p.m. It's always 8p.m and you keep apologizing for it.

I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house. So I have spent almost all the daylight hours in open air.

A trait si-a iubit si asta face si acum! In trandafirul asta de-o frumusete perfecta nu mai e nici o petala nedeschisa, nici o picatura de roua pe care n-au vazut-o razele soarelui.

destroying beauty a rose red sunlight; I take it apart in the garage like a puzzle: the petals are as greasy as old bacon and fall like the maidens of the world backs to floor and I look up at the old calendar hung from a nail and touch my wrinkled face and smile because the secret is beyond me.

Fire benefits plants that need sunlight, while inhibiting those that love the cool gloaming of the forest floor; it encourages the animals that need those plants even as it discourages others; in turn, predator populations rise and fall.

Because terraces soak up more sunlight than steep slopes, maize can be grown at higher than usual altitudes on them; irrigation similarly increases the area available for maize farming.

Our dreams are luminous, a cast fire upon the world. Morning arrives and that's it. Sunlight darkens the earth.

You are as ordinary as spring,' he murmured. 'As powerless as sunlight.' He ran his fingertips down her neck. 'And when I touch you, I burn,' he said, making her heart stop and a flare of wild panic light inside her. He was too close; he was getting to her.

Beauty is sunlight for my soul.

Outside, on Park Avenue, the people had begun to move along the sidewalks once more, the streets of the city began to fill and thicken. Upon the table by her bed the little clock ticked eagerly it's pulse of time as if it hurried toward some imagined joy, and a clock struck slowly in the house with a measured, solemn chime. The morning sun steeped each object in her room with causal light, and in her heard she said, It is now.

And in the end, of course, a true war story is never about war. It's about sunlight. It's about the special way that dawn spreads out on a river when you know you must cross the river and march into the mountains and do things you are afraid to do. It's about love and memory. It's about sorrow. It's about sisters who never write back and people who never listen.

A handsome kid, really. Sharp gray eyes, lean and narrow-waisted, and when he died it was almost beautiful, the way the sunlight came around him and lifted him up and sucked him high into a tree full of moss and vines and white blossoms.

I remember holding you against the sink, with the sun soaking the window, the soft call of your hips, and the intricate flickers of thought chiming your eyes. Your mouth, like a Saturday.

And the sun on the wall of her room, the block of sun with all the tiny flying things in it. When she was little she thought they were the souls of dead insects, still buzzing in the light.